


The Undertow

by quiznakeries



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Anal Sex, Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, POV Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow Burn, Violence, early 2000's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 68,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiznakeries/pseuds/quiznakeries
Summary: When partners Keith Kogane and Allura McClain first go missing, Shiro fights tooth and nail to stay on the case.But, in his attempt to find out what has happened to his friends, he finds himself in the middle of something much larger than two missing FBI agents.
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (past), Allura/Lance (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 144
Kudos: 68





	1. Denial is a powerful thing

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER AND TW: I'm not American and sure as hell not law inforcement, I have no clue how things actually work and rely completely on Google searches and my own imagination.
> 
> This fic contains a bunch of nasty stuff (not the fun kind), so be warned! 
> 
> I'll try to tag sensitive subjects with every chapter where it's needed but I might miss something, I'm not that smart ok

“Shirogane!”  
  


Shiro snaps back to the present at the sound of his name, unable to recall for just how long he’s been stirring his coffee, staring at the computer screen that at some point went black. He tilts his gaze beyond the screen, to the agent filling out the frame of his office door.

“Yes?”

“You’ve got a visitor.”

He sighs. This day keeps kicking him where it hurts and an appearance from one of the few people on the list of probable visitors is not another hit he needs today. Why? Because on his desk sits a file that keeps growing thicker with repeated lab reports and notes from cold trails, all coming together to hiss at him; he’s not getting anywhere. After fighting tooth and nail to get to stay on the case, he’s got nothing. Nothing new on the bullet casing found at the scene. No new prints, no tracks, no suspicious activity in the days before. All he’s got is a witness of a verbal fight between partners, a puddle of blood, and two missing agents. One presumed dead, and the other…

Shiro braces himself, nods for his co-worker to let whoever is here to see him in, despite his own better judgement.

The head of brown hair that pops into view first makes him regret his decision in an instant, but he still stands and greets Lance McClain with the embrace their decade-long friendship calls for.

“Hey, man.” Lance says, and he sounds much like he looks. Cheeks sunken, skin pale. The eyes that were always so expressive are dim, deeply set and framed by blackened skin. Like hell. He looks like hell.

It’s worse every time Shiro seems him. It makes the ugly thing in his chest and that stinky file so much worse. Each and every time, everything gets worse.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, even though he already knows. 

“It’s… tough, but we’re hanging in there.” Lance looks down at his shoes, kicking at the edge of the rug and avoiding to look straight at Shiro as he talks. He’s never been a good liar. “I think J’ is doing better. She’s really strong.”

“She really is.” Shiro doesn’t mention how the girl takes after her mother, headstrong and resilient. Yet somehow, the thought gets across anyway. He can tell Lance knows exactly what Shiro doesn’t say.

The pros and cons of knowing one another for so long.

“How are you, though, Lance? Getting any sleep?”

It’s quiet for a while then, and Shiro waits. Eventually, the defeated sigh he’s waiting for confirms what he already knew. “Not much, no.” 

Lance says it like it’s the end of that conversation, and Shiro knows if he asks more the poor man will likely break into pieces right here in his office. It’s not something Shiro thinks he could handle. Not today, or any other day. So when Lance glances at the mess that is his friends desk, tired eyes scanning for anything to grasp onto, Shiro doesn’t flinch at the question Lance has to ask. It’s what he’s here for, anyway.

“Get anything on that last lab-run?”

Shiro shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s his turn to avoid eye contact, turning too peek through the blinds in the window. The sun is out, but Shiro feels like it should be raining. The warm glow seems mocking, somehow.

When did he become such a melancholy mess?

Lance groans, scrubbing down his face with both hands. When he speaks again there’s unveiled frustration and anger in his voice. “Why isn’t anything happening? You people should have some clue of what the fuck happened at this point!”

Shiro doesn’t take the bait, looking on as Lance kicks the trashcan by the door and sending it flying into the hall with a clatter before collapsing on the couch with his head in his hands. He mutters curses, bony fingers pulling on untamed locks.

  
  


\---

Shiro should have some clue of what the fuck happened. 

He should, but here’s the thing with law enforcement professionals: They know exactly which clues not to leave behind. What to and not to do, when they turn on their own. 

No one had heard from Allura or Keith in two days, when the tracker in their vehicle suddenly came back online. They found it parked outside an abandoned building across town, one that had previously been known to house a biker gang before the bureau brought the operation down earlier in the year. As far as anyone could tell, the building or its previous owners had nothing to do with any case that Keith and Allura had been working on since becoming partners over a year ago, and local police informed them the building had remained abandoned short for the occasional squatter seeking shelter for the night.

When they had gone in, Shiro was the one to first find the crime scene. In the basement of the old house, down a set of scraggly stairs, they found the remnants of a shooting. A bullet casing from a 9 millimeter, standard FBI issue. A puddle of blood, that would turn out to belong to Allura McClain. 

And that, was all they found.

No body was found at the scene, but with the gathered evidence and the amount of blood, Allura was presumed dead later that same week.

And Keith Kogane, the rouge foster kid turned FBI agent, Alluras partner and the latest addition to a very special group of friends, was declared wanted for murder.

—-

  
  


Special agent Keith Kogane had relocated from the west coast a year and a half ago. He was still young, two years out of Quantico but already with a track record that gave Shiro’s younger self a run for his money. At first, he seemed stoik. Unapproachable. Very professional and clever, but not much of a people person. He was all business, working harder than Shiro had ever seen anyone do in this building, still seated at his desk hours after everyone else went home. Just like Shiro himself.

It was during one of those nights, when a case wouldn’t release its grip on his mind and he ended up going back to the office at three in the morning just to find Keith crouched over his laptop with a large black coffee for company and a smuggling operation on his mind, that the two of them became friends. Shiro had invited him into his office, and they balled idea and theory sitting on Shiro’s couch for a few hours. Somewhere down the line, the pressure in Shiro’s skull had lightened, and he found himself spending the rest of the night getting to know his newest colleague. 

Keith, as it turned out, had so much more to him than his admirable work ethic. He loved obscure punk music from the 90’s. He had a soft spot for children and animals. He was into martial arts. When he was a kid he wanted to be a race car driver. When he laughed, it was raspy and high pitched and the movement sent strands of dark hair pulling free from the tie at his neck.

When the automatic lights came on at seven, they had looked at each other in disbelief. They’d really spent the entire night talking, and at the end of it one thing was very, very clear. 

Keith was nothing like Shiro first imagined. 

He was screwed from the start, really, and what started as a little office crush mutated too quickly for Shiro to even keep up with. Only weeks after their all-nighter, he was already in too deep for his own good.

He tried to keep it under wraps. Keith never showed any interest beyond their budding friendship, and Shiro wasn’t about to get the both of them into trouble over such a thing as his own romantic interest. And so for the following year, Keith remained oblivious while Shiro tried very hard to keep his fluttering heart in check, much to his friends dismay. They put a lot of effort into getting him and Keith together, and by extension came to befriend the man themselves and adopting him into their closest circle of friends. This, Shiro argued, was even more reason not to confess to Keith. To not mess with the group dynamic. But his friends interest in his overall happiness was a force to be reckoned with, and it took a total of eleven months for them to finally break him.

  
  


\---

  
  


Shiro had been in the army, before becoming an agent. He’d come face to face with terror, danger and death many times, and not once had he hesitated to do what he needed to do.

Which is why, in his opinion, it makes absolutely no sense what a complete wreck he is when it comes to asking someone out.

It’d taken him a while after giving in to his friends antics, to actually get around to acting on on his feelings. Even though it was a fairly slow week for the both of them, and they spent plenty of time in the office together, finding the perfect moment to take that kind of leap isn’t easy.

“You just got to get out there and do it!” Pidge said one day, fiddling with the controls on their super advanced wheelchair and gesturing to the glass door acting as the only barrier between Shiro and the cause of his stress. Said cause had strolled into the office with an extra paper cup filled with liquid sugar and caffeine that morning, just to drop it off on Shiro’s desk with nothing but a knowing smile and a pointed glance at the stack of papers awaiting Shiro’s attention.

“I will bet my daughters spot on the waiting list for our top three preschools he’ll say yes.” Lance added, leveling Shiro with a challenging stare. Next to him on the couch, Allura didn’t protest.

Neither Lance nor Pidge worked even remotely close to this building, yet them crashing his office in the middle of the day wasn’t at all a rare occurrence anymore.

“Considering his skill and the nature of our job description I’m surprised he hasn’t picked up on your feelings yet, I must say.” Allura mused, stretching her neck in order to look over at Keith sitting hunched over his desk, back turned to them.

“Denial, man.” Pidge produced a mysterious tool from seemingly nowhere and continued tinkering with the frame holding the control pad. “It’s strong stuff.”

Shiro had been about to say something about them all needing to let him do this thing on his own, when the door rattled and a tall figure stepped into the office.

Ulaz, Shiro’s partner since many years, looked unimpressed as ever at finding their shared office occupied by Shiro’s friends.

“What on earth are you all doing back here?” he asked, annoyed. “McClain, don’t you have a job to do?”

“Actually I-” Lance piped up, but fell silent the second Ulaz turned to glare at him.

“Not you.” the older man sighed. “Allura, would you please escort your husband and Doctor Holt out of this office?”

“Yes sir.” Allura was on her feet in an instant, tugging Lance out the door by his collar. Pidge was right at their heels, sliding out and carefully closing the door behind them.

Shiro let his head drop back, just staring at the ceiling and letting himself adjust to the sudden silence. He loved his friends, all of them, and he had agreed to get his head out of his ass and make a move on Keith, sure, but _stars_ -

“Are you going to tell me why our office has seemed to transform to an intervention space?” Ulaz asked, setting his phone and the file he’d been carrying on his own desk. He wasn’t usually the type to get personal, so Shiro found himself snapping to attention at the unexpected inquiry. 

“Oh they, well, they are only trying to help, really.” Shiro fumbles with his words. In front on his partner, who had also been his mentor once, the whole ordeal seemed even more silly than it did before. “It’s nothing important.”

Ulaz wasn’t looking at him, already getting back to work and logging onto his computer. Shiro figured that would be enough explanation, and started asking about the meeting his partner had just come back from when Ulaz talked right over him. “If this is all about agent Kogane and your feelings towards him, I recommend that you get it over with before the entire building gets together and traps the two of you in the elevator with no way to escape.”

Shiro blinked dumbly, thrown for a loop. Had he really been so transparent, everyone knew?

Ulaz tapped away on his keyboard, and Shiro stared at him like he’d grown a second head, too shocked to offer any response to the man’s unexpected involvement. 

“There.” Ulaz scooted back on his chair and got back on his feet. He then made his way over to where Shiro was still standing, and looked him up and down once. “I sent Keith a chat, he’ll be over in a minute. I’ll go get us some coffee in the meantime, you’ll need it to survive the report I have to share with you. The prosecutor on the Carson case is making a fuss.”

Shiro couldn’t believe what was happening in that moment, just staring at his partner as the man patted his shoulder and made his way back to the door he’d entered through just minutes before. 

Ulaz threw him one last look before exiting the office, and Shiro could swear there was the hint of a smirk tugging on the edge of his mouth when he spoke. “And for God’s sake, fix your tie.”

\---

When there was a tap of knuckles on the door, Shiro felt a little winded. There was a definite nervousness brewing somewhere in the depths of his stomach, but the sheer surprise had knocked him off balance enough not to fully let it register. 

He didn’t have to reply in order for Keith to enter the room and close the door behind him.

“Shiro?” Keith looked at him, concerned. He was a vision in his fitted slacks and crisp shirt, jacket left behind somewhere because the man ran hot and wouldn’t wear it if he didn’t absolutely have to. His tie sat in a loosened four-in-hand knot, the dark silk matching the deep purple of his shirt. Shiro could just have watched him stand there forever, probably. “What is going on?”

“Keith,” Shiro started to speak, warmth crawling up his neck. “I, uh-”

“Look Shiro,” Keith said when the words fizzle out on Shiro’s tongue. “-everyone have been acting really weird lately. Lance has been nosier than usual and Pidge keeps showing up here unannounced, and now Ulaz-”

“They’re just- trying to help, Keith.” Shiro interrupted, opting for a soothing tone to meet the the growing anxiety in Keith’s voice. He was well aware of Keith’s history and the insecurities that came with it, having listened and discussed it many times since Keith had deemed him worthy to hear it. Since Keith had decided he could confide in Shiro. Trust him. “They’re trying to help me.”

“Help you with what?” Keith demanded, eyebrows scrunched and fists tight at his sides. He looked smaller like this, with that hint of fear in his eyes. 

Shiro just wanted to make it go away, let Keith know he was safe. 

“With… taking a decisive step.” Shiro took a step closer to Keith, keeping some distance in case the younger man would reject him. Keith’s shoulders dropped an inch, one eyebrow arching in question. He looked Shiro straight in the eye, and Shiro only hoped what he saw there wouldn’t make him turn and leave. “Asking you out on a date.”

Shiro forced the words out in one quick breath, freezing solid at the end of the last syllable.

Keith blinked, much like Shiro had done earlier when Ulaz had decided to get involved. There was that same punched out surprise on Keith’s features. 

Then, he un-clenched his fists, the tension in his his limbs melting away as Shiro sweated bullets in front of him. He grew back to himself in a matter of heartbeats. All Shiro could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. Feel the flush pulse hot on his face and neck. See the incredible man he’d spent the past year getting to know cock his head to the side and smile.

  
  


\----

  
  


The sun has begun to set, when Shiro twists the key in the ignition and the dashboard turns dark. He sits there for a while, watching the pink sky fade into orange behind the long row of oaks lining the parking lot. It’s been hours since he left the office. After Lance left there was no trying to focus on work anymore, his mind in pieces and frustration filling all the gaps. Ulaz ran out of patience with his moping partner and sent him home early, but Shiro couldn’t go home. Couldn’t just sit around in his empty apartment and try not to let the case consume him there as well. He’d gone to the gym, tried to run and sweat and push until his mind went numb. 

It didn’t work.

And so, for the third time just this month, Shiro has found himself steering his car in under the stone arch marking the entrance to the cemetery. He’s lost count of how many times he’s visited in the past three months. He takes a long, deep breath and steps out of the car. The gravel crunches under his feet and it’s the only sound he can focus on as he lets his feet guide him down the path. Turning a corner, he almost bumps into an elderly woman carrying a dry bouquet of mixed flowers in her arms. 

He apologises, bowes his head, and continues on deeper into the cemetery.

It’s one of the bigger ones in the city, with many entrances and what seems to be endless rows of stones and flowers, words and burned out candles. There are two entrances closer to where he’s headed, but Shiro has grown to appreciate the eerie calmness of the place as he makes his way towards Alluras headstone.

It’s easy to find, white marble almost glowing amongst the greys blacks that dominate the rows near it. At the bottom there are planted flowers, pink blossoms starting to curl up at the end of day. In their midst sits a lantern and a heart shaped rock. The rock has three little figures painted on it, two tall and one short in between them, all holding hands. Shiro has seen it so many times, he should be spared the clench on his heart but he’s not. Every time, he stands between wanting to take it and throw it far away or cradling it in his hands.

In the beginning, he used to talk to her. Stand here and try to make sense of it all with words and pretend like she could hear and understand, perhaps help him find some answers. But eventually, he’d progressed to just standing there, catching up with his own thoughts. Sometimes, he’d replace the candle in the lantern and light it. Shiro was the one to put it there, but it’s starting to fill up with pink candle wax of different shades. Shiro knows it’s Lance and Juni, lighting it when they visit.

As Shiro squats to light the candle, a sweet smell hitting his nose when he opens the little hatch, he re-reads the words carved into the stone for what must be the thousandth time.

Allura McClain, 1989 - 2020. Wife, mother, hero.

It stings.

Before rising to his feet, he lets his fingertips trace the words of her name. He misses her so much suddenly, it’s unbearable. It comes over him sometimes, when his guard is down. His oldest and greatest friend, the only one who had been there for it all. They’d served together, survived together. She joined the bureau two years after him, got stationed in the same city.

She was there when he lost his arm, saved his life. When she met a young sniper in Iraq, Shiro was the one she called to complain about his advances every week until the moment the charmer got hurt and she came to terms with her feelings. It was Shiro who walked her down the aisle at her wedding, and slapped Lance on the back of the head when he lost his marbles in the delivery room. He is the godfather of her daughter and she wasn’t supposed to fucking die.

He breathes in and it trembles. 

“Nothing is as it should be and I have no idea how to fix it, Llura.” he whispers. “I’m all out of leads and I don’t know where to go from here.”

The light of the candle flickers, making the marble of the headstone dance like something alive. It’s the closest thing he’ll get, and he’ll take it. 

A twig snaps as someone walks down the next row, a crow caws in the distance, and the last rays of sunlight clings to the edge of the world, but it all seems so far away. His mind is getting hazy, the weight of his body feeling more pronounced for every breath.

A shadow blocks out the last light painting Alluras headstone a dreamy pink, and Shiro has to blink twice before grasping that something has appeared behind the stone. He tilts his head, and snaps out of his drowsy state as the human figure comes into focus. Shiro’s mouth runs dry, an icy cold feeling stomping on the happiness that wants to spring to life at the sight before him.

“Keith?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter came out shorter than i would have liked it to but here we are
> 
> anyway hi welcome thank you for reading MWAH!!


	2. Splinters

The man before him is dressed in all black in the semi darkness, but there’s no doubt. It is definitely Keith. Shiro stares, long and hard as if trying to prove himself wrong here.

But then, Keith speaks, and whatever delusion Shiro was trying to build where he was wrong crumbles in the wake of that voice saying his name. “Shiro.”

“Keith?” Shiro says it again, asks, needs to confirm. The drowsiness from before washes over him again, and suddenly he knows. “What have you done to me?”

“I’m sorry.” Keith says, and Shiro sees through the haze, the sadness on the other mans face just then. “You should sit down. You’ll be asleep soon.”

Shiro knows that’s true, can feel his limbs growing heavier by the second. But he can’t do nothing. He has to-

He surges forward with a grunt. Catches himself with one hand on white marble and throwing his weight towards the man on the other side. He lands on his knees in the grass, losing the weak grip he manages to get on Keith’s clothing and watching him slip further away.

“Wha-” he mumbles, tongue fumbly and thick in his mouth. He falls back to rest against the back of the stone. He can’t see Keith’s face anymore, the blur and the dark getting the best of him.

But he sounds terrible. Emotional. Sad.

“I’m so sorry. I just…” Keith bends down, reaching out but stopping himself before the touch comes. “I had to see you. And I need you to listen to me.”

“So you drugged me?”

Keith makes a noise, something like amusement but not really. “Can’t have you following me, big guy.” he says. Shiro thinks he can see the outline of Keith’s profile as he turns to look at the grave for a moment. “How’s Lance?”

Shiro manages a scoff. “Missing th-the mother of his child.”

Keith is quiet for a few heartbeats again. Shiro wishes he could see his face. Wishes he could access the betrayal and anger he’s stored away for this man, if he were to find the evidence was true. It makes him want to sink through the ground, how Keith isn’t making that seem less likely just now. 

It just doesn’t make sense.

“What the hell’s going on, Keith?”

A hand touches his face then, and as much as Shiro wants to flinch away, he can’t.

“You’ll find out, I promise.” Keith whispers. “But not yet.”

“Keith-”

The younger man shushes him, his gloved thumb rubbing circles on his cheek. “I’m leaving you something. Promise me to take a look at it.”

“I-” Shiro’s mind is fogging up, unconsciousness pulling at the edges of his vision and painting them black.

“Promise me.” Keith says again, firm. Loud in the haze.

Shiro’s mouth moves around something just as he slips under, lips numb around the words.

  
  


—-

  
  


“Really, Shiro?”

Keith laughs, but walks through the familiar door Shiro is holding open for him all the same. The guy does have a point, though. With this being their first date, taking him to their most frequented watering hole might not seem like a great idea at first.

But Shiro knows Keith. Shiro knows Keith well.

“I figured it’d be nice.” he defends, their feet guiding them towards the usual corner without as much as a second thought. “No fuss, y’know, familiar.”

Safe, comfortable.

Keith slides into the booth, but before Shiro gets to do the same Keith catches his gaze. The teasing grin has softened, taking on an expression Shiro has never seen on him before. Gratitude? Endearment?

Whatever it is, Shiro decides he likes it.

It’s no secret that before Shiro and his friends became part of Keith’s personal life, he’d been a bit of a shut-in. He didn’t socialize much outside of work, but spent most of his time alone. Shiro has learned that despite the fact Keith insists he enjoyed his privacy and freedom to do what he liked with his time, there were times he felt lonely, or sunk too deep into his own head. So even if the man is still the most self sufficient and introverted person in their little group, Shiro is glad to be part of bringing some color into Keith’s non-working life.

Shiro had also learned that Keith got nervous when the line that marked his comfort zone was challenged. With the badge as a shield, he didn’t seem to be afraid of anything, but without it he floundered. It was something he had tried to hide at first, when they started hanging out. He’d make excuses not to come out or try new things, or shut himself off with a feigned disinterest and crossed arms even though he was actually curious.

It’d taken a while to grasp, and Shiro was getting there, but ultimately it had been one of their friends to first bring it up on one of those nights Keith had dodged an invite to go bowling. Hunk has always been very perceptive to people’s feelings, in a way that has Shiro often questioning his choice to work in a secluded lab and not with… well, people.

After his talk with Hunk, Shiro had changed tactics regarding socializing with Keith. They ended up spending more time at home, just hanging out, no pressure. On one hand, he’d known it was a bad idea to spend more time alone with a man he had a raging crush on, but on the other he really wanted to be the one to make Keith feel safe and secure. 

Nights of Keith teaching him how to play poker or them trying out strange microbrew beers became a weekly thing. It was casual and fun and sometimes downright domestic in the way they just fell into each others pace. They always met at Shiro’s place, and despite himself and all the reasons he shouldn’t, Shiro would watch the door after it closed behind Keith and daydream about a night when he wouldn’t  _ go _ .

  
  


\---

  
  


Somehow, as dinner comes and goes much like any other friday night they’ve spent together in the past year, they migrate from sitting across from each other to close together at the middle of the curved booth. It’s not entirely new, but now knowing that Keith liked him back for all this time and was likely searching him out just as Shiro did, it changes things. There’s a tingle that wasn’t there before, or at the very least one he wouldn’t acknowledge until tonight. It’s in the air between them as they talk, it’s underneath his skin. Warm and loaded with excitement.

“Allura told me what J’ said about you the other day.” Keith says around a smile as they wait for their dessert. There’s a glint of mischievousness in his eyes as he says this, and Shiro knows exactly what it is Keith is referring to.

The week before, Lance and Allura had celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary, and in the middle of a dinner conversation about marriage, Lance’s sister Veronica had decided to ask the three year old if she’d like to get married someday. Juni had lit up like a christmas tree and told them all very excitedly that yes, she wanted to get married, to “uncle Sheewo”.

Lance almost fell out of his chair trying not to choke on his own giggles, and had sworn to keep that one for his high school graduation speech.   
  
Shiro can’t help the obnoxious laughter that escapes him, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. “Yes, well, when she gets a little older I guess I’ll have to let her down easy.”

“She’s really something.” Keith snickers, sipping his black coffee and just watching Shiro fan himself with his artificial hand as he calms down from his outburst.

“She is. There’s never a dull moment with that little gremlin.”

They go on to talk about Juni and how she’s very likely to drive her parents absolutely insane once Alluras stubbornness and Lances tendencies to bring things to their limit kicks in. At some point two plates of apple pie and icecream appear on the table, and its nearly melted when they finally snap out of it and realize there’s food sitting in front of them.

“Perhaps it was a bad idea to allow those two to reproduce.” Keith says with his mouth full, crumbs escaping past his lips. “The combination is lethal.”

“We didn’t have much say in the matter.” Shiro tries to will down his smile. “I don’t know why but they didn’t seem to think to discuss it with us at all before making the decision. Crazy.”

Keith cackles, throwing himself back against the cushioned backrest with his hands clasped over his stomach. Shiro joins him, takes a deep breath and lets the comforting arms of a good food coma embrace him. 

Even while seated, he’s got a good few inches on Keith, and has to look down in order to see his face. And when he does, Keith is looking right back at him, smiling. Head tilted to the side, locks of black hair framing his face and eyes such a deep blue they’re almost purple.

He’s so damn beautiful, Shiro will never understand how he kept his distance for all this time.

“This is nice.” Keith says, and it’s so much softer than it was just moments ago. “Not ducking or booking it every time you’re being cute.”

The tingle from before transforms into something sizzling, warm growing hotter and definately coloring his cheeks. He splutters.

“That’s why you always disappear right in the middle of a conversation?” is not what he would like to follow up Keith’s confession with. But it’s all his overheated brain can manage.

Keith shakes his head in disbelief, a silent laugh stilting his words. “How did you not know? When you played with Pidge’s rats at the lab the other week I had to leave the building so no one would se me fucking  _ swoon _ .”

“I figured you were afraid of the rats! Or thought they were gross, or something. I don’t know!” Shiro sits up straight, arms swinging to amplify his words as he tries to make sense of what Keith is telling him. “How was I supposed to know?”

Keith sighs, smiles. “We already covered how literally everyone knew.”

Shiro is about to make a point of how everyone but the two of them knew, and that he really can’t be blamed for being blind to just as much as Keith had been, but he doesn’t get there. Instead he’s struck dumb by the way Keith is looking at him now, so soft and fond Shiro hardly even recognizes him.

All the cheezy, stupid songs make sense and Shiro is a fool in love, completely mindlessly letting himself be pulled in by a careful hand cupping his chin. Keith is so, so close, and he more breaths than speaks the words just before the last inch of distance closes.

“We’re so fucking stupid.”

There’s no spark or strike of lightning when their lips touch. No fireworks or roaring flames. It’s more like gravity ceases to function, a weightlessness. Shiro feels so light, meeting soft lips that carry the same hint of cinnamon and coffee as his own must do, if Keith would be to let go of him now, he might just float away.

  
  


\---

  
  
  


The pain that threatens to split his skull in two is the first thing that greets him as he comes to. 

It takes him a few moments of disoriented, grainy half consciousness to remember what had happened. The questions flood his mind like a tidal wave, and he groans at the fuel it adds to the raging headache. How long has he been out? Where is he now? Where is Keith?

He realizes he’s in the backseat of his own car, still parked outside the graveyard. It must be in the middle of the night, if the dark outside is anything to go by. He tries to sit up, but finds himself going right back down. His limbs are heavy and almost numb, still shaking off whatever Keith used on him.

Keith.

Shiro closes his eyes, tight. Keith had been there tonight. Keith had knocked him out and taken off. Left him unconscious and alone in his  _ car _ . He fights the next wave of questions trying to take up space at the front of his mind. Now is not the time to question the realness of his relationship with Keith, if what seemed so honest perhaps never was.

_ We’re so fucking stupid _

Images of Keith roll by behind his eyelids, and Shiro is helpless to watch them come and go.

_ Look, Shiro- _

The ugly thing that’s been hibernating at the bottom of his stomach squirms.

_ I’m leaving you something _

Shiro jerks into sitting position, eyes blown open as he remembers. In the dark, he starts pawing at the seats and tries to look everywhere at once, willing his heavy limbs to somewhat comply and trembling just from the force of pushing back the pain in his head.

Finding nothing in the back seat he hauls himself forward in between the driver and passenger seats, scanning the rest of the car with a kind of desperation he’s not sure he’s ever felt. The sudden rush of adrenaline roars in his ears like thunder, the pain and fatigue falling into something secondary. He needs,  _ needs _ to find answers and if Keith has left him even the littlest crumb to follow-

For a second the entire world just stops, as Shiro lays eyes on the to go bag from Seven Eleven sitting innocently in the passenger seat. He’s cloudy still, but he can swear that bag isn’t his, wasn’t there when he last left the vehicle.

He grabs it with his hardly responding hand and falls back against the seats. In the few seconds it takes from the moment he grabs it until he’s got it open he notices one thing. It’s heavy. The car is still so dark, it’s a near thing he even manages to see what sits on the bottom of the paper bag. 

A handgun.

Shiro doesn’t need to see properly to know it’s Keith’s. The ugly thing curls into itself again, confused. He stares into the bag, at the dark shape sitting at the bottom, as if the gun would answer all his questions if he just looked at it long enough. Of course, it won’t. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, slumped in the back of a cold SUV, when his mind starts coming back online and he notices. There’s something more, tucked against the side of the bag and practically invisible in the low light. He scrambles to get his phone out, glad to see it’s still on him, and uses the flash to shine into the bag.

First thing is that it definitely is the same make and model as Keith’s work gun.

Second, the other thing is a folded piece of paper. It’s a note, crooked crows feet he can barely read but would recognize anywhere. 

_ Took your car keys so you won’t try to drive first thing when you wake up.  _

_ I’m really sorry, Shiro. For everything _ .

  
  


—-

“You,” Matt points an accusatory finger at Shiro as he tumbles into the passenger seat of Matt’s little Toyota. “Need to be glad I haven’t had a sense of day and night since college. What the hell is going on?”

Shiro grunts. The aftermath of whatever Keith drugged him with is coming out much like a hangover, and Matt’s voice is much too loud. “Just get us back to the lab, Matthew.”

“Gee, Matthew? You call me at two in the morning on a weekday to come get you at a graveyard because you’re woozy and lost your car keys. And then you hit me with Matthew?” Matt sounds like he’s complaining, but Shiro can hear the underlying worry in his voice. Still, he starts the car.

Matt doesn’t push any further, for which Shiro is grateful. But as they drive through one sleeping neighborhood after another, the urgency of the situation starts to pick at the strings in Shiro’s chest. Keith left him his gun for a reason, and he has to find out why. There’s something here that Keith wants him to know and the faster he does the faster he will find be able to put an end to the internal battle that’s been keeping him awake for the past three months.

“God damnit Matt would you step on it?” He finds himself snapping, and he realizes he’s tapping his foot impatiently.

Matt throws him a look before turning back to the road, and he presses down on the gas just a little bit harder. “What is up with you, man? What the fuck happened back there?”

“I saw Keith.”

The car swerves into the next lane with a lurch. Matt curses and twists the wheel to get them back on track, all the while looking like a cat that’s been splashed with ice water. “You did what?”

Shiro taps his foot a little faster and brings his hand up to rest his chin on his fist. He notices himself shaking. “He left me his gun.” He says, and there’s urgency in his voice. So much of it, hearing himself talk only makes his heart beat faster. “We need to get back to the lab and get working and I  _ need you not to drive like an eighty year old _ .”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Matt shifts in his seat. “Hold on and ready your best siren noises.”

On normal occasions, Shiro would laugh. He’d make fun of his friends pathetic driving and later pretend that he totally didn’t encourage speeding in any shape or form, because he’s law enforcement. But tonight he can’t laugh. There’s too much noise in his head, too many stressful factors clamping down on his sanity now and  _ god _ he’s nauseous. 

A hand squeezes his shoulder. Matt’s focus is on the road, but there’s a new set in his jaw. Anger, worry.

“Hang in there buddy.” He says, taking a sharp turn that almost tilts the little lunchbox of a car to the side. “We’ll figure it out.”

They reach the lab in one piece, and Matt doesn’t make any complaints when Shiro sprints down the parking lot towards the entrance. He’s still recovering, though, so for what must be the first time in their friendship, Matt actually outruns him. Which is just as well, since Shiro doesn’t have the codes nor the keycard that Matt uses to get the two of them into the building. Shiro clutches the paper bag to his chest and jogs down the hall. The fluorescent lights and soft pastels walls gives the impression of a normal office space, like it’s not like stepping onto a spaceship once you open the double doors at the end of the corridor. 

Matt swipes another card, enters another code, the two of them burst through the doors and-

On the other side is Pidge, a coffee mug the size of their entire head in one hand and glasses riding low on their nose. They don’t even flinch.

“What time is it?” They sounds vaguely confused, taking in the sight of their brother and seven feet stacked FBI agent that nearly ran them down. Pidge presses a button, turning their wheelchair to face the two of them.

“It’s time to get to work, that’s what time it is!” Matt is out of breath and looks slightly hysterical, grabbing Pidge by the shoulder for support and panting. “Something’s up with Shiro, think someone took him out, had to go-“ he takes a big breath. “Go get him at the cemetery. Dunno what happened. Super confused.”

Shiro doesn’t stay to watch Pidge handle their brother. He skips down the metal ramp that leads down to the main research area and continues down towards the testing halls. Here, he’s not restricted by code-locks or passwords. He turns the handle on one door and pushes. Inside is a glorified hangar, with five long rows starting ten feet or so from the entrance and running all the way to the back wall. All in all, the room is about two hundred feet deep, and thus by far the largest in the building. Here, they test short to medium range weaponry, and the occasional experiment.

It’s the only place on this property where Shiro feels like he belongs. This is stuff he knows. He taps in a command on the computer by the door, and the lights on the first row flicker to life one by one with a series of echoing whirs. Down by the end of the hangar, a machine connects to a rubber sheet and starts sliding down its row towards Shiro. In the meantime, as the robot approaches the fifteen feet mark, Shiro rips the handgun from the bag and gets into position at the painted line on the floor.

Out of pure habit, he releases the magazine to check its contents, pulls the rack and checks the chamber for additional rounds, and reloads it. He has the exact same gun sitting in the trunk of his car, and the familiarity of it all makes the ugly thing twist and turn again.

With a shrill beep, the robot stops at the programmed distance in front of him. A grey square of shock-absorbent material sits in a frame at its front, white circles forming a bullseye at the middle. 

Shiro raises the weapon, clicks the safety off with a swipe of his thumb. 

“Heyheyhey, what are you doing?”

He just barely brushes the trigger with his finger when a flash of green flannel and caramel hair appears between the loaded gun and the target.

Matt pales the moment he realizes he’s just shoved himself in front of a firearm about to go off. His knees visibly buckle.

Shiro doesn’t lower the gun, and he’s seething. “We need to match a bullet casing to the one we found at the scene.” He practically growls, knuckles whitening around the metal grip. “So I’m firing the fucking gun. What are  _ you _ doing?”

“Shiro.” Matt’s voice sounds far away mixed up with the white noise in his ears. Can he just fucking move? “There are protocols to follow here. We need to-“

“I don’t give a shit, Matt.”

“No?” His friend straightens where he stands, stepping closer until the barrel just about nudges him straight in the chest. “If we don’t do this right, anything we find right now will be ruled inconclusive and any judge will throw it right out the window at first word from the defense. You know this.”

He wants to say it again, that he doesn’t care. He just wants answers. Something to tell Lance when he sees him, anything, just so they can get some damn rest. 

But, of course, Matt is right. He moves carefully around Shiro, who lowers the gun, and darts off into the corner to get a sterile bag from the station there. He returns soon enough, and Shiro feels like he’s stepping out of the house of mirrors at a theme park. When Matt reaches the open bag out to him, Shiro drops the gun into it without fuss. 

Matt says something to him before hurrying out the door, but Shiro doesn’t pick up on it. 

Jesus fuck, he really needs to go lay down.

  
  


—-

  
  


“Quit it.”

Shiro pulls back from where he’s begun to poke around the various tools and half finished projects taking up most of Matt’s workspace. He’d gone to rest in Matt’s office and slept through the rest of his drug induced hangover. By the time he woke up, it was almost six thirty in the morning and the Holts were more than halfway through the list of standard procedures on Keith’s gun.

Now, he’s restless.

“Is there nothing I can do to speed this up?”

Matt swivels around on his desk chair, catching Shiro about to touch one of the screens on a rendering machine. “You could call your partner and start the process on getting yourself questioned.”

Shiro feels the headache from before creeping back into existence. “I’m going to go check in with Pidge.”

“That’s what I thought.” Matt calls after him and turns back to his screens.

Pidge’s room is a lot different from the ones neighboring it. From a good distance Shiro can already smell the jungle of plants and other living things they keep in there. 

Pidge Holt is the kid genius who raced through their school years fast enough to score their first doctorate two months before Matt, despite him being four years older. It’s something he’s never going to get to live down. At the age of twenty four, Pidge had already scored themself a job at one of the best labs in the country. Which, for being a government funded organization, has become a bit of a Holt family workplace. Pidge, Matt, and both their parents all work somewhere on the premises. 

The door opens for him automatically as he approaches, and the scent of greenery and earth really hits him with the puff of air the door produces. Right in the middle of the spacious room, Pidge sits at their low desk, screen light reflecting in their glasses. That, paired with the shadows cast by the number of heating lamps lining the back wall makes Pidge look almost more like a cartoon than anything else. 

“I can’t find any particulates of value on the gun or in the bag.” Pidge says. “Unless you think mustard and white bread will help us track down Keith.”

Shiro doesn’t say anything, just walks deeper into the room and up to a floor-to-ceiling cage where he opens a hatch. There’s some pronounced rustling, followed by two pairs of tiny cold feet on his skin. Shiro closes the hatch with his free hand. The little animal climbs his arm, settling on his shoulder and nicely sitting there as Shiro feels some of his stress seep away. 

The rats name is Splinter, after the martial arts practising mutant rat from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. All of Pidge’s rats are named after famous rats in fiction, but the one with the TMNT name was instantly Shiro’s favorite.

He may or may not have slept on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sheets for most of his boyhood and perhaps even well into college.

Walking back to Pidge with Splinter nuzzling his finger, Shiro can tell the scientist is just waiting for him to regain some focus before speaking. 

“The serial number came back a match though.” Pidge says, once Shiro is back at his spot next to the desk. “It’s definitely his gun.”

“I already knew that.” he says.

“Yeah, well, now everyone who won’t accept your gut feeling as evidence can rest assured too.”

  
  


\---

  
  
  


It takes another hour of Shiro pacing back and forth, feeding Splinter snacks and doing pushups in the break room for the results for the bullet casing finally come in. And when it does, Shiro finds himself running a blank.

The casing found at the scene doesn’t match Keith’s gun.

But what the hell does that mean?

“He could have shot her with her own gun.” Ulaz suggests, setting the file down on his desk. He was already there when Shiro arrived to the office, and after a thorough re-cap of the past sixteen hours Shiro’s partner is trying to help.

He isn’t happy, but at least he’s helping.

“No, he couldn’t.” Shiro flicks through the pages of his copy of the case file, trying to fit the new information into it.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Allura never carried the 19M.” he mutters, tracing the report on the day before the agent’s disappearance with the tip of his pen for what must be the hundredth time this week alone. “Went straight from the S&W to the 17M three years ago.”

_ The witness states that agent K Kogane and agent A McClain could be seen arguing in the parking garage on June 13’th. The witness can not reiterate what was said, but indicates it was done with angry body language and hushed speaking voices. The witness did not perceive the scene as physically violent. _

Shiro reads and re-reads the words. This moment, right here, is the only sign of bad blood between Keith and Allura in as long as the two has worked together. It’s the key to the entire thing, Shiro’s sure, but where the witness’ statement ends, so does the trail. The cameras in the parking garage don’t have microphones good enough to pick up on what was said and most of the argument went down in a blind spot between a concrete pillar and a van. The only thing they know for sure is that the two of them eventually got in the car that was later found at the crime scene, clearly still agitated.

At the end of the page sits a printed screenshot from the garage door camera. Alluras face is twisted into a snarl, saying something. In all their years of friendship, Shiro has almost never seen her look so genuinely angry. It shakes him, every time he looks at the photo that turned out to be the last ever taken of his best friend alive. How it was one of anger, colorless and grainy and snapped by a shitty surveillance camera. 

And next to her, wearing his usual mask of indifference, is Keith. In the photo, he’s staring straight ahead, and Shiro can almost place himself in that backseat, watching the tension in his neck and shoulders grow more pronounced for every word his furius partner spits at him. But the face would remain emotionless. A skill Keith said he wasn’t proud of, and a habit he had trouble kicking, from spending many years in the foster system.

Shiro had been so sure he knew Keith, perhaps better than anyone. But now? Shiro doesn’t feel sure about anything anymore. Nothing, except for one ridiculous thing. One absolutely ludicrous thing. He has no proof and there’s a good chance he’s letting his heart believe what is easiest to take, but fuck.

Keith did  _ not _ kill Allura.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big boi with smol rodent makes my heartu go doki doki


	3. Strike two

_ Look, Shiro- _

  
  


Shiro snaps awake, the remnants of a dream repeated too many times not slipping from his mind quite as it should, this time. He’s at home, curled up on the couch. On the TV, there’s a different show running than there was when he last remembers looking at it, and there’s that wet cotton feeling in his mouth. He yawns, stretches.

It’s not often that he falls asleep in front of the TV, anymore. He’s always too tense, too wound up. But - there comes a time when the body just gives up on you and your stress. Or at least so he figures, as he makes his way through the apartment to the bathroom. Maybe he’s finally hit the limit for the amount of weight his baggage and his worries can reach before the dam breaks and it all spills out.

Or maybe he’s just sick of being the human version of Wile E. Coyote, chasing after something he’ll never catch and constantly hurting himself in the process.

He falls back to sleep in the darkness of his bedroom, but even though he’s finally getting some sleep; he’s not so sure he’s actually getting any rest.

  
  


-

  
  


Getting Keith’s gun in the mix has resulted in more questions than answers. Questions like who shot Allura in the first place. 

“You need to take a break from this.” Ulaz tells him with poorly veiled annoyance. Shiro has been talking non stop since coming in at seven, and his partner is finally - after three long months - tired of the broken record he’s become. “Dos Santos isn’t getting anywhere on the Virginia shooting, go lend him a hand. Do some work.”

“I bummed you out so bad you don’t even want me on your case, huh?” He means it as a joke, but it comes out too bitter. Still, Ulaz snorts and waves a dismissive hand in Shiro’s general direction. Shiro doesn’t miss the little smile hiding at the corner on his partners mouth.

He knows he’s just treading water at this point, and it’s actually refreshing to get some real work done once he digs into the Virginia shooting. The case file is a mess, and he spends the next few hours reviewing papers with agent Dos Santos. By the time lunch has come and gone, the two of them have made some real progress.

“Didn’t the cab driver say he was out of town on the day of the shooting?” 

His colleague makes an affirmative noise, scanning through a lab report on the gun residue.

“Funny how he could be out of town and getting gas three miles from the scene one hour before the shooting at the same time.” 

Shiro must admit, he’s missed this. Finding the missing pieces, calling suspects on their lies. Getting  _ closer _ . 

“What?” Dos Santos sends the papers in his hold flying, scrambling out of his chair and over to where Shiro is watching a piece of camera footage from the gas station. He’d had a hunch, with the car being pumped full of gas despite the driver reporting it stolen that morning. No maniac with plans to leave the vehicle behind would gas the thing up beforehand. So, Shiro checked the cabbie’s bank register to see which gas stations he frequented the most, and made some calls.

“He paid cash. License plate is covered but that’s definitely the one.”

“Christ.” 

“Looks like you have some work to do, buddy.” Shiro scoots the laptop over to where the other agent looks like he might burst. The man all but throws himself over it, digging out his phone and getting to it.

As Shiro makes to leave the room, Dos Santos whisper yells his thanks with the phone already pressed to his ear. Shiro gives him a thumbs up, and steps out. He feels like he just woke up from a long, good, nap. Like he’s stuck his worn down edges in a sharpener. 

Ulaz was right to send him out of their office for a while.

He makes a stop in the break room, and catches himself with his hand hovering inches from coffee pot. Instead, he reaches for the kettle, and prepares his first cup of green tea in weeks.

—-

  
  


He’s just about to walk into his and Ulaz’s office when he sees his partner answer a call on his private cell. 

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, really. But he’s right there, one foot of distance from a flimsy glass door. 

Ulaz doesn’t answer his phone with any type of greeting, just holds and seemingly listening to the person speaking on the other end.

“When?” He says eventually, and Shiro can’t help but notice the strain in his voice. “Have the others been informed?”

Ever since his time in the military, Shiro has been able to trust his gut instinct. It’s saved his life, and it’s saved others on more than one occasion and it’s something he prides himself on. 

So, when the tone in his partners voice makes something cold strike him, he side steps out of view. There’s another moment of silence on Ulaz’s end, short for the rustling of paper and shoes scuffing the carpet. Then-

“Yes. I’m leaving now.”

Shiro just makes it down the corner before the door slides open, revealing a rigid looking Ulaz who quickly disappears towards the elevators. To anyone else, the man probably looks perfectly normal. But Shiro knows better. After six years of partnership, and an even longer time as colleagues, he knows Ulaz better than probably anyone else. The older man is unmarried and doesn’t have any children, but lives comfortably the way he likes. The only family he has is his mother, a sweet woman living in a retirement home not too far from town.

Ulaz doesn’t confide in many people.

But their work relationship has always been next to perfect. They check in with each other, work seamlessly around one another and most importantly; they’ve always trusted each other.

Shiro feels the lack of that trust like a gaping hole in his stomach now, and he has absolutely no idea why.

He walks down the hall just in time to see the elevator doors close around his partner. The man isn’t looking back into the hall, but glaring at the screen on his phone where he’s typing faster than Shiro ever knew he was capable to.

The white noise starts creeping back into Shiro’s ears. His heart has sped up significantly, and he wonders if perhaps he’s going nuts after all. Seeing things where there are none. He fishes out his phone to text his partner.

**From: Me**

_ Saw you leave. Where are you headed? _

The reply is almost instant.

**From: Ulaz M. (ICE 3)**

_ Personal thing. _

**From: Ulaz M. (ICE 3)**

_ I’ll fill you in later. _

  
  


It’s nearly painful, realizing he doesn’t believe it. On any given day, this answer would suffice. Shiro would let Ulaz do what he needed to do and not think about it twice.

But something isn’t right.

“Agent Shirogane, sir?”

Shiro snaps out of it, gaze locking on the person speaking his name. In front of him stands a young man that he recognizes from downstairs, a new recruit with only months under his belt so far. His commanding officer, Thace, seems to think he’ll make an impressive agent with some training, already pushing him towards the front lines of things. Learning on the job and all that.

Shiro doesn’t get a chance to say anything before the young agent continues. “We just received a call that might interest you regarding the McClain-Kogane case.”

The bad feeling is getting way worse.

“Tell me.”

“It was Washington State Penitentiary, it seems Allura McClains father has been killed.”

The entire world seems to freeze, everything going perfectly still just long enough for a string of thought to run through his head and possess him to move.

“Do you have a private vehicle here, Griffin?”

The young man drops the forward professional act for confusion. “Sir?”

Shiro raises one eyebrow. He knows how he looks when he’s determined, knows it won’t take much.

It doesn’t.

“Y-yes, I- uh, I have a car?”

“Hand me your keys.” Shiro reaches out with his prosthetic, urging the other agent to get on with it. Griffin hurries the best he can, the papers in his arms slipping from his grip as he reaches for the keys in his back pocket. Shiro snatches them up the second he sees them, already moving towards the elevator.

“Where?” he’s already in the elevator, leveling his colleague with a hard stare. The poor kid looks like he’s about to pass out.

“Uh- C fourteen, it’s a silver Sudan, close to the elevator.”

“You take Montgomery with you and get to the scene as fast as you can.” he orders, pressing the button for the garage. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

“Yes... sir?”

Once this is over, Shiro promises himself, he’ll take the time to apologize. Later.

  
  


\---

  
  


Allura McClain, maiden name Altea, lost her mother to breast cancer at the age of three. Her father, a well known journalist, was left to care for her. He wasn’t a perfect father, having chosen a profession that didn’t allow much time for anything but his work. Alfor Altea had worked for many years to spin the web of contacts he had within the political system, and every relation took careful tending to even between stories. 

Allura spent most of her time with her fathers closest friend, her uncle Coran. But she missed the man that read her bedtime stories better than anyone, the one who’s voice never failed to make her feel at peace. She knew her father’s work was dangerous, that he had a finger in one too many honey-jars and despite her young age, she worried. Allura liked it best when her dad was at home with her, safe and sound.

When she was nine, she was old enough to pick up on things she wasn’t supposed to. That year, she eavesdropped more on her father and uncle discussing something, arguing, more frequently than she played with her toys. She’d sit inside the closet in her father’s bedroom, wall to wall with his study. There, she and her trusty stuffed unicorn would listen in and try to make sense of what her father was working on that uncle Coran didn’t approve of.

It only got more intense the longer it continued, and by the time fall had come around, Allura walked in on her uncle Coran crying from frustration in the kitchen more than once. He was an emotional man, Allura knew, but she’s never thought her dad would ever make him cry.

“What is father doing?” she asked one of those nights, holding her uncle tight around the waist as he gathered himself. She never asked before. She knew she was too young for anyone to tell her.

“Oh, little berry.” she wasn’t sure why uncle Coran called her that, but she had long since decided she liked it. She let him get away with saying lots of silly things. “Your father is being a big dumdum, and I am very worried about him.”

Allura hugged her uncle tighter. She didn’t expect him to say anything. It wasn’t his fault, but she found she would rather not have heard it. The nasty feeling that caught in her throat was unpleasant. 

Suddenly, Allura wanted to cry too.

Allura Altea was nine years and seven months old when her father went away forever. She wouldn’t understand until much later, and when she did she’d be thankful for the years in blissful obliviousness during which she was just a girl who missed her dad. The truth of it all was so much uglier.

As a teenager, by then living with uncle Coran in his spacious flat in the middle of town, she would gather every piece of information on her father’s case she could get her hands on. At the time it happened, it had been all over the news, in every newspaper. But it was all the same, a high profile case that someone put a tight lid on and never leaked many details. All she could ever gather was that after breaking and entering into a senators chambers, her father had been caught by two guards. In an attempt to escape, he got a hold on one of the guards weapon and shot him. The man died on site, and her father became the man who murdered a working man after failing to dig out dirt on a much respected senator.

He was sentenced to life in prison.

And that could have been it. Perhaps, Allura could have gone to see him, heard his side of the story. Perhaps she would have found a way to understand, or get some closure. But fate wasn’t so kind to the girl who already lost both her parents. After only weeks in prison, a riot broke out in the cafeteria. Her father was one of the worst injured, suffering a head injury that left him sitting right on the brink of life. He ended up in a coma, and Allura only visited him once.

It was the day before her wedding that she found herself standing in the door opening and staring at the still figure on the bed. Pale and thin, clean shaven like she’d never seen him. Lance laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and she clutched it, held onto him so hard, his hand was still swollen the next afternoon and it was a near thing the ring even got on his finger.

They didn’t stay long. She had felt the need to see him, the man who abandoned her, just to see if she’d find any relief. If she could shove in his empty face that she made it to happy without him. If she could take his hand and tell him how she missed him still. Anything.

But all she felt then, even with her husband to be right there with her, was alone.

  
  


\---

  
  


“Your father was awake, Allura, was that it?” Shiro says to the empty passenger seat. He’s been on Ulaz’s tail for a few minutes, weaving through traffic at a safe distance in a car that smells like talc powder and artificial pine. In the cupholder a too white grin pops out at him. It’s a pin. The entire city is a whir of red and blue these days. Posters, banners, puffed up faces printed on shiny paper. The upcoming election is all anyone ever sees or hears about as the weeks speed by, the big day closing in.

Shiro couldn’t care less.

Not that he doesn’t care about politics, or about who runs the country he’s lost an arm for. But with everything that’s happened in the last few months, he’s lost track of everything outside of this case.

Allura would have hit him on the head if he ever stopped keeping up with politics on her watch.

“What weren’t you telling me?”

There’s no answer. But he’ll find out on his own. He can only imagine that if someone took out Alfor, he must’ve been awake. No one would bother killing a man who’s been in a coma for twenty three years, would they? And if he was awake, what did he have to say that was important enough to get him killed?

Shiro closes a little of the distance between him and Ulaz, and prays that he’s not wasting his time following his partner just for it to turn out to be an emergency appointment at the dentist.

At the same time, he hopes he’s wrong. That his partner wouldn’t lie to him. No matter how he twists and turns it, he’s in for pain.

When Ulaz finally pulls over, Shiro drives past him and around the corner. There, he shoots right up on the sidewalk and leaves the car to be dealt with by traffic police. He hurries back, and succeeds to see which door his partner goes through. He makes his way there slowly, maintaining the space. Luckily, the door is unlocked when he gets there.

It’s a small main entrance, leading to a set of stairs and an out of order elevator. Above him, he can hear Ulaz steps going up. There seems to be a number of small businesses renting space in the building, all of them listed on a board by the door. Shiro takes a look, deciding that bolting up the stairs might be a bad idea with how the steps above him bounce off the walls. There’s a designer. An IT company. A law firm. Another IT company. An environmental activism organisation. And one empty slot, on the top floor.

Shiro has done this for a long time, and if there’s anything that would literally be in the beginners handbook, it’s if you don’t want to be found - you must remain invisible.

As he carefully makes his way up the stairs after hearing a door closing with a click above, Shiro contemplates calling for backup. Which is absurd, because he still has absolutely no proof there’s something going on here. But there’s something to the thump thump thump of his heart, like he’d always feel when an attack was imminent. The way he feels moments before storming an active crime scene.

The door, when he reaches it, is a blank slate. The slot where the company name tile goes is empty. No writing or symbols anywhere. But behind it, there’s movement. Voices. They’re not very close, more likely coming from a room further into the space. They’re agitated, stressed. 

Lucky for Shiro, people under pressure sometimes miss the little things. Like locking doors.

The door opens quietly, and Shiro thanks his lucky stars for his luck when he finds the floor is carpeted all the way down the narrow corridor he’s now facing. The occupants all seem to be in the same room, at the end of the hall. He passes two other doors, both closed, one a bathroom. The one on the end is wide open, and he’s starting to make out words.

“We need more. Without Alfor we can’t-” the woman speaking interrupts herself, and a murmur follows. 

“Would you go get your computer?” a voice says, and it’s not much louder than the others, but Shiro hears it like it’s spoken straight into his ear.

That’s Keith’s voice.  _ Keith _ is here.

He’s so dumbstruck, he’s a second too slow to realize someone is stepping out of the room. Things happen very fast, then. He reaches for his gun because he knows he won’t make it out unseen now, but he never comes as far as to pulling it out. 

It’s a woman he sees, with dark hair and there’s something - familiar, about her.

His eyes are on the person coming into view before him, but it’s a blur because he senses the presence behind him in the same second and he’s not  _ fast enough _ .

There’s a flash of lightning. Then, everything goes dark.

  
  


\---

  
  


At least he was right assuming he was in for pain.

The first thing Shiro feels when he wakes with another throbbing headache is annoyance. He’s stealthy, he’s a god damned FBI agent and he’s good at what he does. He shouldn’t have fallen for two ambushes in the span of a few days.

No one’s managed to sneak up on him in years.

“Hey, are you with me?” 

Something cold presses on the pulsing bump at the back of his head. It feels good. He tries to open his eyes, but when he does the world remains black. Knocked over the head, tied up and blindfolded without anyone knowing where the hell he’s disappeared to.

That’s great.

“Shiro?”

He’s so sick of how things he never thought would hurt suddenly causes more pain than any broken bone he’s ever suffered. Keith’s voice saying his name shouldn’t make him want to curl up and weep.

But it does.

“Here, let me-” there’s pawing at the back of his head, and moments later light is seeping in through his closed eyelids. He’s not sure he wants to open them. If he can take seeing Keith now, like this.

“Hey.” the voice urges, a hand touching his arm. “Look at me.”

He sounds so pleading. There’s pain in his voice that Shiro doesn’t know what to do with. But if there’s anything he knows he’ll always be weak to, it’s Keith asking him for anything. He’s a fool and he’s helpless against the man who never needed anyone asking the littlest things of him. It makes him hurt some more, but he obeys.

He regrets it and he doesn’t at the same time, torn like he is with almost everything right about now. He’s tied to a chair. A flimsy thing he could probably break with his hands, if he wanted. Next to him, Keith sits on a table, holding whatever frozen thing he’s got on Shiro’s head. He’s trying to catch Shiro’s gaze, but Shiro avoids it with great difficulty. He needs another moment after all. 

They’re in a small conference room, empty short for the table and chairs, the wiped down whiteboard. It’s a place ready to be abandoned. It’s occupants set out to run at any time. The windows are boarded up, but the chipping paint on the wall and the worn carpet under his feet tells him he’s still in the same building as before. The hand on his bicep squeezes, just a little.

The breath he didn’t realize he was holding leaves him in a terrible rush once he gives in and lets the man sitting beside him lock eyes with him. There’s a great sadness in Keith, that much is for sure. Perhaps he’s truly sorry for what he’s doing, what he’s putting Shiro through. 

Or it could be something else. Fuck if Shiro knows, anymore.

“That’s the second time you’ve been knocked unconscious this week.” Keith says after a long moment of silence, his attempt at humor falling flat. Shiro hates how Keith knows him well enough to bring it up.

He has so many questions, but now that he’s here, he can’t find it in himself to ask a single one. Instead, he looks back at Keith. Or maybe he glares, he’s not sure. All he’s sure of is that the world is fucking upside down and he seems to be the only one clinging to the ceiling, refusing to let go of what once was even when it’s gone.

“Are you not going to talk to me?” Keith looks as sad as Shiro feels. But he also has that endless determination shining through, the stubbornness that Shiro still finds so attractive. “That’s okay. I get it.”

Shiro believes him.

“You weren’t supposed to come here. We’re not ready for you, yet.” he says, lowering the ice pack and leaves it on the table. “I need you to listen to me, Shiro.”

Keith’s gaze hardens, like he means business. “Don’t go digging into Alfors death. I know me saying that will make you want to do it more, but I have to say this. Don’t call attention to this. Or people will get hurt.”

“Is that a threat?” Shiro asks, and it comes out kind of like a scoff of laughter. 

It doesn’t sound like a threat, much, but when is anything what it seems to be anymore?

“Shiro.” Keith sighs, pulling back.

“That’s not a no.”

The silence stretches long between them. After a while, Keith stands. He comes to stand right in front of Shiro, placing the blindfold back over his eyes. 

“You’re right,” he says finally, and Shiro feels a panic tugging on his mind at the tone of his voice now. It’s hard, and definite. “it’s not.”

\---

Next thing he knows, he’s gagged and lead out of the building. Someone taps him on the cheek and tells him this location will be abandoned from now on, and he believes them. There’s shuffling and muttering and car doors slamming, a vehicle starting up and taking off.

Once he wiggles free and finds himself propped up against a dumpster at the back of the building, well hidden from anyone’s view, he just sits there for a while. He stares at nothing, and tries to gather his thoughts.

In retrospect, he could have told Keith he doesn’t believe he killed Allura. That could have gotten him something. But now, another agent is involved and Ulaz- Ulaz has the same gun as Keith. 

Could he have-?

Shiro cuts that thread of thought before it manifests and takes over. It’s too much. Instead, he gets himself off the ground and starts walking, carefully avoiding the sinkhole that is the realization all the people he trusted most in the world are in one way or another  _ gone _ .

  
  


—-

  
  


_ “What the fuck are you saying?” _

_ It’s a whisper, but Lance may as well have screamed it. The whirlwind of emotions crossing his face in the matter of moments is enough to break Shiro’s heart all over again. _

_ Delivering bad news was always the worst part of his job, but this one is the worst by far.  _

_ “The amount of blood was… Lance, we’re still examining whether it would have killed her or not.” The words are so sour on his tongue, it’s hard to get them out. But he powers through, and he watches his friend break a little more for each one. “But it looks bad. Without medical attention there’s a very slim chance-“ _

_ “And Keith?” Lance looks completely delirious, his hands going everywhere like he doesn’t know what to make of them. He’s pulling on his hair, now. _

_ “He’s missing. They are both missing, but we’re doing all we can to-“ _

_ “You will find them, right?” The words come trembling off Lance’s lips. “Fuck I can’t breathe, Shiro, tell me you’ve got this.” _

_ “Lance-“ _

_ “Just tell me you’ll find them!” Now, he’s screaming. Gasping and lost to the weight of shock and the same helplessness that’s been eating away at Shiro for the past few hours. “Fuckfuckfuck this is- I can’t-“ _

Shiro watches the screen on his phone light up for the second time in the past ten minutes. He knows he should take the call, get it over with. But he just can’t. What is he supposed to say? That Keith is alive and well but has joined some shady secret organization with no apparent plans of coming back? That there’s still nothing new on what happened to his wife? That despite everything that’s happened, Shiro is more convinced than ever that Keith didn’t kill her, not that he has any proof?

That after three months of fucking up, the case is no longer his?

Because that happened. After spending the night sleepless and uselesss in the office, he’d been called up to the director of criminal investigations office first thing in the morning. Shiro knows Kolivan pretty well, and this far into his career it’s rare for him to get a formal summoning such as this one. They’d discussed the past few days as well as the progress made on the case in general.

Shiro saw it coming a mile away, but that didn’t stop him from becoming angry, and loud.

“Do you need to take that?”

Kolivan nods towards the phone sitting on his desk, right on top of the case file.

“No. No, what I need is to stay on this case.” He goes back to arguing. “No one else will take it! With the election coming up, we have our hands full as is. I am not letting this case get swept under some rug.”

“I will appoint a new agent to the case. I promise you, it will not - as you say - get swept under some rug.” The man behind the desk leans back in his chair, but Shiro sees straight through that veil of superiority and demand his boss so easily puts on. He’ll say when they’re done.

“Who?”

“Agent Thace down on seven has expressed his interest.” Kolivan hands the information over without hesitation, ready with answers in a way that’s always been both impressive and infuriating about the director.

“That makes no sense, he didn’t even know the missing agents!”

The proposition is ridiculous, why would Thace ask for a specific case when it comes with no gleaming reward for anyone, as the case is all but dead, nor any interest to him personally?

“Which is exactly why I’m putting him on it.” Kolivan raises his voice, and he looks far more threatening now that Shiro has prodded him into annoyance. “Now, if you would, I have other matters to discuss with you.”

Shiro takes a deep breath. There’s not much more for him to do at this point. When he doesn’t say anything further, the director takes it as a go-ahead to continue.

“I have spoken to Ulaz. He has a family emergency to attend to and will be absent for some time.”

The room seems to tilt, everything out of place. “What?” Shiro blurts, the anger he just patted down flaring up like a trick candle. “I just told you what happened yesterday! What is wrong with you?”

“What you saw yesterday, agent Shirogane, was a man entering a building. Did you know, that the daughter of your partners mothers closest friend - the one responsible for the woman’s will - owns the law firm on the second floor of that very building?” Kolivan raises a hand to silence Shiro before he even tries. “Her name is Maggie Rose, and Ulaz went to see her on his mother’s behalf.”

“Are you nuts? Keith was-“

“I think you ought to take some time off, Takashi. This case has clearly taken its toll on you.” 

“I can’t believe you’re-“

“Either you take me advice,” Kolivan speaks right over him. There’s something new to him, a side that Shiro never encountered. There’s no veil, now. The authority is absolute, dangerous. “Or you are out of a job.”

It strikes Shiro then, and he’s on his feet in two seconds flat. He takes a step back.

“You’re in on this too, aren’t you?” Somewhere, Shiro knows it’s stupid to call Kolivan out. He should have walked away, kept digging from a safe distance. But the FBI agent in him is a broken thing, frail and hardly functioning. “Whatever the hell is going on, you’re in on it.”

“Sit back down, Shirogane.”

“Do you know what happened to Allura?” He demands, so confused and so utterly betrayed he’s ready to implode and disintegrate right here in this office.

“Sit. Back. Down.” The words are absolutely booming, like they could shake the world. There’s no way the entire floor didn’t hear.

Shiro does sit back down. Not out of intimidation but out of determination to get at least some answers out of one of these damn people.

“You need to stop barking up the wrong tree, agent.” Kolivan’s tone comes out significantly milder, and there’s an urgency becoming apparent on his features. “If you keep making noise like this you risk uncovering an operation of great significance. It could have devastating consequences.”

—-

  
  


After eventually somewhat accepting defeat in Kolivans office, Shiro heads straight down to the parking garage. He’s officially on sick leave until further notice.

On paper, anyway.

He wants so badly to keep fighting, the sense of failure pushing against his ribs. But at this point, he’s got no one in his corner, and truth be told - he doesn’t even know what he’s fighting for anymore. Finding answers. Answers to what, exactly? Bringing justice. How is it supposed to be just when every move he makes ripples and breaks another protected surface?

Right and wrong is a big, fucking blur.

So, he goes home. He stops at the grocery store on the way, and purchases more microwave mac and cheese than any human being should ever consume in their lifetime. 

He feels… defeated.

And he’s so, so tired. And so tired with being tired. Perhaps some time forced out of the system will be good for his mental health, after the mayhem it’s been through lately. But there’s that underlying current of fear and worry, for Keith, for Lance. Something is happening right under his nose and he’s seemingly the only one left out of it.

He can’t even figure out the basics like; is this hidden operation working with or against the law? 

Once at home, he pops eleven beers in the fridge. The twelfth gets to be his companion, watching the tub fill up with steaming water and scrolling through Spotify in search of a decent playlist.

In the bathroom cabinet a little jar of pills call out their existence, after collecting dust for god knows how long. He hasn’t needed them in such a long time, he keeps them around more out of old habit than out of necessity.

He looks down into his beer and shakes his head. Can’t mix the pills with alcohol. And he’s damned well having his beer, even if it’s barely eleven am on a weekday. If anything, he’s earned this.

A few minutes later the first beer is gone, and special agent Takashi Shirogane has one foot just reaching the bottom of the tub when the disturbing sound of his doorbell cuts through the old school rock he’s got turned up a little too loud in the small bathroom.

He considers ignoring it, but.

Wrapping a towel around his waist as he goes, one foot leaving wet footprints in its wake, he’s swinging the door open before he can allow himself to consider who it might be standing on the other side.

Whoever he would have thought of, though, would have been completely wrong.

“Agent Shirogane.” James Griffin doesn’t flinch when met by a practically naked man with a metal arm glaring daggers at him for disturbing his privacy. Which is more than you can say about most people. “Can I speak with you?”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will shiro spend more time knocked out than not throughout this entire fic? no one knows


	4. Treasures of youth

One week after his first date with Keith, Shiro was happy. 

Work had hit them like an eighteen wheeler and they hadn’t gotten much time alone since then, but to him it didn’t really matter. Just being able to look up from his desk and catch Keith looking back at him, knowing there was  _ more _ behind the little wave he’d give him, was enough to send Shiro soaring. Stealing tiny moments in the shape of lingering touches was a thrill he’d cherish for as long as he could.

He just expected it to last longer.

Keith spent the entire weekend working on something classified with Allura, and come Monday, something had shifted. Keith was avoiding him, and he couldn’t see why. 

He ended up filing it as work related stress. Keith had been working without rest for eight days, and even though Shiro would have thought this would only increase Keith’s need for the subtle intimacy they shared, he wasn’t above admitting that their relationship had changed and how he might not be able to fully lean on the knowledge he had about Keith’s needs from before.

And so Shiro didn’t push. He dropped by the tiny conference room where Keith and Allura had been holed up for running on three days, a hand covering his eyes and two paper bags carrying lunch for the both of them in the other. If he couldn’t help with the case, at least he could do some little things.

But, Tuesday was no better. When he ran into Keith in the break room the man all but ran out of there, darting right back to work.

Wednesday, Shiro decided enough was enough. He kept an eye out throughout the day, and when he first saw a chance, he cornered Keith in the hallway by the elevators.

“Hey,” he began, reaching out. Warm and so much smaller than his own, Keith’s hand felt too good in his. “Keith you need to talk to me, what is-“

With a long, steadying breath, Keith pried his hand out of Shiro’s hold. Like he was returning something he hadn’t asked for, he pushed Shiro’s arm further away.

“Look, Shiro…” Keith hesitated, curling in on himself and avoiding eye contact. Shiro felt something tear, a violent rip deep behind his ribs. “I don’t think we should do this.”

Shiro was dumbstruck, and felt himself go numb.

“What changed?” 

He’d never heard his own voice sound so small, so fragile at the hands of someone else. He’d never taken such a risk for a relationship before, and perhaps that left him vulnerable. He’d decided that Keith was worth risking his career for, the balance in his personal life and just - everything.

It was confusing, seeing how Keith had taken so well to everything. Their date had gone so well, and it was even Keith that initiated that first kiss. 

It didn’t make any sense. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Shiro detected the little pitch to his voice then. It shrieked at him. Lies,  _ lies _ .

Keith was lying to him, and by the looks of it, he knew he wasn’t doing a very good job. “I need to go.”

Shiro caught himself wanting to reach for Keith again, stop him from pushing past him and towards the closest elevator. If Keith didn’t want him to touch him right now, he wouldn’t. “Keith-“

“Allura is waiting for me.” He insisted, just as the elevator pinged. The sound was amplified in the space between them.

Keith dared a short moment for their eyes to meet just as the doors started to close, and his were dark with emotion. With all the things he, for some reason, couldn’t say. Shiro watched him go.

And Keith never came back after that.

—-

  
  


When Shiro returns from his bedroom, now in sweatpants and the first t-shirt he could find, he finds Griffin inspecting the little velvet board where a handful of medals and pins are on display.

The war medals though, he keeps in a box far back in his closet.

“So what did you want to talk about?” 

Might as well cut to the chase.

The younger agent jerks into action, grabbing the file he’d left of the coffee table and offering it to Shiro. He sits down, flips it open. “What is this?”

“I went to the prison like you told me!” Griffin starts, pacing back and forth in Shiro’s modest living room. “And one of the nurses told me Alfor was awake for a few months. He was starting to recover, too. It seemed like he would be fine!”

Shiro tries not to make his peaked interest too obvious, fingers shaking as he turns the page and listens.

He’d been right. Alfor had been awake.

“Then baam! Someone sneaks in and slits his throat in broad daylight. Nobody saw a thing, killer appeared and went up in smoke.” Griffin gestures wildly with his hands as he talks, growing more and more upset. “A convicted murderer gets killed after miraculously waking up from a shitlong coma, it’s basically an episode of a tv show, and now-“

Shiro waits, watches the agent deflate on a long sigh before he continues with far less steam. “Now Thace basically told me to bury the case. He rerouted me to some armed robbery involving a local talk show host or whatever and-“

He pauses again, looking from Shiro to the papers rapidly giving in to the pressure of Shiro’s closing fists.

“Then I heard Kolivan made you take time off and that Thace was taking your case and I figured the two must be related somehow so I made a call to the prison before anyone noticed me still working the case and then I took the file and I came to find you and- yeah.”

The guy is speaking a mile a minute again, but Shiro is more focused on what’s coming out of his mouth than he’s been to anything in a long time. The raw energy he’d felt after helping Dos Santos bubbles up in him again. But it’s followed by a sinking feeling.

Thace too?

“Anyway, the reason I came to find you right away-“ Griffin leans over to flip the pages on Shiro’s lap. At the back there’s a bunch of papers stapled together, column after column of some sort of record continuing for multiple pages. “-is this. Phone records and visitors logs from the first 48 hours after Alfor Altea gathered consciousness.”

Shiro spots it just as Griffin says it, and it’s like someone lights a Christmas tree in his brain. 

“Alfor made a call to Allura thirteen hours after waking up. The lady I talked to said he was weak and disoriented but insisted to make the call as damn fast as possible.” 

Shiro moves on to the visitors log.

“She went to see him the next morning.” He says, staring down at the neat little row of words and numbers that have just changed  _ everything _ .

“Yes, and, the date is-“

“Two days before Allura and Keith went missing.”

Griffin gives an affirmative hum, waiting for him to continue. 

Shiro is so blown away by the new information, he’s going to need a moment to process. To plan his next move. It’s going to get tricky, working off the radar, but at least he now knows he has someone left on the inside.

Somebody’s in his corner, after all.

“You need to get back to the office.” He says. “No one can know you came here. Do you understand?”

Griffin nods, accepting the file when Shiro hands it back to him.

“You need to put this where your superiors thinks it belongs. But make a copy, when you get a safe chance, and bring it back here. Can you do that?”

“Yes sir.” 

“And try to stay on Thace’s good side. If he thinks he’s got you where he wants you, everything will be just fine.” Shiro tries to sound reassuring, but James Griffin has already proven to be very intelligent. He must know there’s no way for Shiro to make a promise like that.

The agent nods again, his expression hardening in determination. Without another word, he takes his leave. Once he’s gone, Shiro stares into empty space for a heartbeat, then he slaps his hands on his thighs and heaves himself out of his armchair.

He’s got work to do.

  
  


—-

  
  


By the time he steps onto the porch of Lance’s and Allura’s house, he has started to piece together the list of trails to follow now that he knows Allura was in contact with her father before her disappearance. He needs to get his hands on the security tape from the visit, and if possible, a recording of the phone call. He has to find out who killed Alfor, and why. And he needs to see Coran.

But first, he needs to talk to Allura’s husband.

He’d called ahead, asking to come visit his friend and vent about getting booted from work. It’ll look like any friendly visit, in case someone is watching.

Upon ringing the doorbell, he hears a voice he’s not allowed himself to surround himself with much in the past few months, followed by the sound of little feet.

A moment later, Lance opens the door. He looks tired, as usual, but not as bad as he does when Juni isn’t present. Shiro doesn’t understand how he does it, how he’s able to be so strong for her.

“Uncle Sheewo!” The little girl screams, curly pigtails whipping wildly around her little head as she jumps up and down on the spot. 

He huffs a laugh, giving the man before him a chaste hug before readying himself for the onslaught from his daughter.

She’s the best kind of crazy. She jumps up and clings to his leg, leaving Shiro to try and hug her with great difficulty. She laughs hysterically as he starts to walk into the house with her still attached. He looks down at her, at the mouth full of pearly white teeth grinning up at him. He waves, she laughs.

“Missed you!” She screams, like he isn’t right there. The child is the loudest thing he’s ever encountered when she’s in a good mood, but it’s never bothered him. If anything, he finds it endearing how she gets so excited she needs to get it all out. And like the blessing she is, she’s not a loud crier. Doesn’t make much noise when she’s down at all, actually.

Which is exactly why Shiro has avoided her for some time. It’s been too hard, seeing her hanging her head and not speaking a word, missing her mother so terribly.

It hits him now, how selfish it was of him to disappear from her life too. Maybe she needed him.

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s wrenched the little monster off his leg and lifted her up, crushing the little body to his chest in a real bear hug.

Juni giggles, but settles down in his arms. He sniffs, willing the tears that threaten to build behind his closed eyelids to simmer down.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” His voice is thick, and he feels how true the words are as he says them, even if he has been set on not thinking too much of his god daughter lately. “So much.”

\---

  
  


“So why did they fire you?” 

Shiro turns his head, away from the little girl who has moved on to watch cartoons sitting too close to the TV, to her coffee sipping father next to him on the couch. Lance is curled up, hands and mug resting on his knees. It makes him look small, and young.

Shiro is once again reminded of how much Lance has been through. That war didn’t break him, he came home in one piece and with a healthier mind than most. He settled down, and got himself ready to live the rest of his life without death, without great fear.

He deserved so much better than this. But now, Shiro may be able to at least find him some closure.

He clears his throat.

“I’m not here to talk about that.” he says, and sees Lance’s eyebrows scrunch in question and then rise.

“Is this about the case?”

“Yeah,” Shiro glances to Juni, but she’s lost in the world presented to her on the screen. “-it is. They kicked me off the case.”

“What?” Lance whisper yells, clutching his coffee mug tighter. “Why?”

“I’m not sure why, but they don’t want anyone digging further into it. So I need to keep my investigation under wraps for now.” Shiro locks eyes with Lance, keeps him pinned until he nods his understanding. “And I need your help.”

“Of course, anything.”

He’s taking up more room, suddenly. Setting his feet on the floor, his oversized mug on the table. He’s clinging to the opportunity of being useful and having purpose, just like his daughter clung to Shiro’s leg twenty minutes ago.

“Did you know that Allura was in contact with her father in the days before she disappeared?” 

The way Lance snaps his head in Shiro’s direction, eyes widening something ridiculous, confirms Shiro’s suspicion. If Lance would have known anything about his wife’s father waking up from his coma, he would have told Shiro a long time ago.

Lance takes a moment, then asks; “Alfor is awake?”

“He was.” Shiro corrects, and the dread that strikes his friend reflects instantly on his face. “He woke up days before Allura disappeared, and he was killed yesterday.”

“They talked?”

“On the phone, once. And the day before the disappearance she paid him a visit. I’m looking into it, but for now that’s all I’ve got.”

Lance runs his fingers through his hair and breathes in deep. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. I didn’t even notice anything was off, she was- completely normal.”

“I think the case she and Keith were working on was connected to whatever it was that her father had to say.” Shiro continues. The classified case they’d been working on, where the case files vanished and the webs of red tape that had left him with only the little non-confidential information Kolivan had to offer. He’d told Shiro it was a hit and run where the driver was one protected by diplomatic immunity, and that it had no ties to the agents disappearance. That it was in such early stages still, the suspect in question had not even been called in yet.

Shiro had accepted it, because he trusted Kolivan’s competence and integrity. Believed the director would surely do what was right.

That’s all changed now.

“Do you have any idea why Alfor was still being kept alive after all these years?” it’s a question he’s been asking himself for a long time. Allura didn’t believe her father was ever going to come back, and she didn’t make space for him in her life anymore. Shiro had figured perhaps she felt guilty somehow, or that she couldn’t find it in herself to let go completely. It was a sensitive subject he never had the guts to ask about.

“We never knew for sure.” Lance watches his daughter dance along with the characters on the TV as he talks. “Allura and I figured it was probably Coran’s doing. ‘Llura wasn’t involved, but someone was making sure he was being taken care of. Coran never admitted to it, but he’s the only one who cared deeply for Alfor in the end.”

Shiro lets the information sink in. That’s another reason to pay Coran a visit, then.

He stays for another hour, digging through the attic with Lance to find Allura’s old collection of content on her father’s case, playing with Juni for a while. When he leaves he’s got an old shoe box under his arm, and two brilliant drawings gifted to him by his god daughter. 

At the door, with Juni propped up on his hip, Lance sends him off with a wave and a hopeful smile. And for the first time since Allura disappeared, Shiro thinks it’s really genuine.

\---

Back in his apartment, he sticks the drawings on his fridge with one of many colorful magnets that Juni personally picked out for him to buy. They’re probably the most vibrant things in his entire home, as he’s more of an earth colors kind of guy. Or so he’s been told. Shiro never really thought about color arrangements when choosing his interior. The furniture is mostly aged but sturdy, things he’s inherited from family or bought at auctions. The couch, bed and appliances are modern and simple. Decorations are sparse. Some photos, a couple of abstract paintings his mother painted long ago. A dead, potted plant. His medals.

In the bathroom, he’s met by a cold tub of water and an opened, but since untouched, bottle of beer. It hits him how much he’s found out in one afternoon, how he’d gotten so damn close to hitting rock bottom just hours ago, and now-

He watches the swirl of fizzing beer disappearing down the drain with the bath water, and brings the empty bottle back into the kitchen where he prepares himself something to eat. He’s got a couple of hours before Coran gets out of court. 

Shiro met Coran in private long before he saw him at work, and he remembers having great trouble imagining such a ridiculous man making his living as a defence lawyer. Coran is loud and goofy, not to mention emotional. Shiro couldn’t see him and his striking bow-ties being taken seriously in any type of real courtroom. 

He’d underestimated him. A lot. 

The first time Shiro met Coran in a professional setting was before Shiro went to Quantico, when he was just starting to look into entering a crime investigating career. He made a lot of visits to open trials, police departments and volunteered wherever he could for a few months, to get a feel for it and see where he might want to end up. And seeing Coran in his element was a surreal experience. He still stood out like a dandelion breaking through concrete, but he owned it. He took such advantage of how the rest of the courtroom perceived him, knew precisely how to wield it and make it work in his favor. He was a constant surprise, and by being so very different from everyone else, he quickly became someone everyone was drawn to listen to.

Shiro learned to never downplay a person’s unique traits ever again.

As he waits for time to tick by, Shiro sorts through the variety of articles and notes that teenage Allura once gathered and never threw out. There shouldn’t be much to find, since Allura never got her hands on anything other than what the media had siphoned out all over the country back then.

He’s not expecting anything, so when he finds something, he can’t help the punched out breath that escapes him in sheer surprise.

The next two hours can’t go by fast enough.

\---

  
  


Coran looks beat, his maroon two piece suit creased and bow-tie untied around his neck as he mixes a cocktail for himself. Shiro has declined the offer of one for himself, and taken a seat on one of the couches at the center of the huge open space. The lawyer has made a good name for himself, and the money that comes with it. It doesn’t show much, how loaded he is, until you enter his home. He’s still the guy who takes the bus or bike wherever he goes, and prefers a street vender curry over a fancy corner bistro any day.

The entire man is a riddle Shiro long since stopped to try and solve.

“I assume you’re here to ask questions about Alfor.” Coran cuts right to the chase, crossing one leg over the other as he sinks deep into a puffy, polka dotted arm chair. He sips his drink, and at first glance he looks fine. But Shiro sees it, in the bow of his brow and the gloss in his eyes, the mourning of someone dear. 

“Yes.” Shiro says. “Were you aware that he was awake for three months before he died?”

Coran looks up at him, and he looks so uncharacteristically sad, Shiro suddenly understands the stories Allura told him of how she in her childhood found herself thrown for a loop when she saw him crying. He nods slowly. “I did.”

“Did the two of you have any contact?”

“No.” the word falls heavy out of Corans mouth. “When I tried to book a visit to see him, he told his caretakers no.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Do you know why?”

“Oh, Shiro.” Coran sounds wistful. “It’s ancient history, by now. We didn’t end things on the best of terms, Alfor and I.”

“Because you tried to stop him from going through with the break-in?”

“Among other things.” the man reaches up to twirl his mustache, the wild orange starting to blend with lines of white. He’s getting older, and Shiro can only imagine how it must feel to have someone so important so close, only to lose them again before anything could change. “He got himself roped up in some nasty, nasty things. It’s what got him in that coma in the first place, and it’s what killed him now.”

“Coran.” Shiro searches out the other man’s gaze. It’s teary, and grieving. “I think the same thing that got Alfor attacked all those years ago is what got Allura killed now.”

Coran’s eyes widen a fraction. “So do I. But Shiro you must understa-”

“I won’t let anything else happen to them, Coran. Juni and Lance will be safe.” Shiro would rather throw himself in a fire. “I promise you that.”

It’s silent for some time. The hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of the city many floors below fill out the space and Shiro is holding his breath. 

He exhales in relief when Coran eventually tips his head back, knocks back the rest of his drink and gets to his feet. The man sets his glass on the marble coffee table and reaches out a hand for Shiro to take.

“Come on then, I have some things to show you.”

\---

  
  


Shiro holds on to the back of the desk chair in Coran’s home office, stopping it from moving as Coran gets on his tippy toes standing on it. He’s popped one of the ceiling tiles out of it’s frame, now pawing around the space above it for something.

“Aha! There we are.” he pulls out a dusty, hardcover folder and hops off the chair with a thud. With the handkerchief from his breast pocket, Coran wipes the years of dust from the black cardboard and hands it over. Shiro takes a seat on the edge of the desk, Coran on his chair. “This is all I could find in Alfors office the night he got arrested. It’s not much, he had other places to keep such delicate information that I never knew where they were.”

The content of the folder ranges from hand written notes to blueprints of the building Alfor had broken into. But just as Coran said, there isn’t much detail. Nothing on what exactly the journalist had been out to get, what he needed from that office or what he planned to do with it. But Shiro has a hunch.

“It killed me to lie to my little Allura, back then when she was searching. I always told her the police took everything.” Coran says, looking up into the darkness of the space above the ceiling.

“You were protecting her.” Shiro counters. “It was the right thing to do.”

Coran doesn’t say anything more. In silence, Shiro continues to go through the papers in search of more answers. When he’s done, he isn’t much wiser, but the beginnings of an image are starting to take shape. 

He’d known, once he realized that Kolivan was involved, that whatever is going on is bigger than he first thought. It’s hardly about two missing agents anymore, but about an entire movement within the bureau covering up evidence and making things disappear for a reason. Alfor was killed because he knew something, and it’s only rational to assume Allura was killed for the same reason. She died because her father told her something she wasn’t supposed to know. And now, everyone he trusted the most within the FBI are trying to make it go away. 

Part of him feels like a fool, for putting his trust in people that have only turned out to knock him unconscious and disappear with evidence. But another part, his gut instinct, still refuses to believe things are quite as they seem. It tells him he’s missing something important, that whatever image the evidence seem to come together into isn’t what he’s looking for.

Kolivan and Keith both told him to exit the road he’s been headed down, and he’s left to wonder. 

Is it because they want him off their backs,

or a way of telling him he’s coming after the wrong people?

\---

  
  


Shiro brings the folder with him when he leaves, reassuring Coran over and over that he’ll keep it well hidden.

He takes the long route home.

There’s one thing he’s purposely not been thinking about much today, with everything else buzzing around his head and making him dizzy already. But here, in the closed off space of his own car threading through traffic, he’ll go there.

Keith and Kolivan knew each other, long before Keith came to work with them.

Keith had told him that first night they hung out in the office. How he just got out from spending a night in jail - after being caught spray-painting profanity on the windows to a snooty store that accused him of stealing, and then running from the police - and a cop came up to him. How that cop seemed to believe that despite everything, there was something in Keith worth rechanneling to doing some good.

With a threat of throwing him back in jail if he didn’t listen, the stranger sort of took Keith under his wing.

The cop in question, Kolivan, would later turn out to be one of the officers training Keith at the academy, and even be his captain at the first precinct he worked at. He was an FBI agent who had missed the grounded action of the local police force, and took a couple of years to work outside of the bureau. He happened upon Keith less than a week after trading in his suit for the blue uniform. It wasn’t something Keith talked about, but Shiro always knew he was very grateful to Kolivan for changing his life. For giving him a chance to be his best self.

It’s a sweet story that had a vital part in the makings of the Keith that Shiro knew. 

But perhaps that’s not all there is to it. With their close relationship, could Kolivan have let Keith in on all the secrecy long ago? Maybe even before he was relocated to DC?

Had Keith been keeping things from him all along?

The thought makes Shiro’s stomach twist, the ugly thing baring its teeth. He doesn’t want to believe any of these theories to be true, but he has to consider all options. No matter how much they sting. There’s a good chance Keith knew things Shiro didn’t, long before this mess happened. 

When he breaks free of his thoughts he’s halfway up the stairs to his floor. He pushes them away for now. He’s so set on making good on his promise to Coran and lock Alfor’s folder in his safe first thing when he gets home, he almost misses the little thing out of place. Almost.

On his doormat, right below his nose, sits a post-it note. A little yellow square just waiting for him to find.

He snatches it up, and reads as he makes his way through the apartment to the safe.

_ At 9:05 PM a cab with tinted windows will turn the corner on 5’th and pass your house. Flag it down. /K _

Shiro stares at the note for a good while, heart stuck in his throat. So much for not thinking more of Keith today.

The alarm clock sitting on his nightstand reads 8:48. 

He takes a steadying breath. Enters the code to the safe, twists the handle. He takes the box sitting inside, and leaves the folder. When the lock mechanism clanks back into place, Shiro looks down at the box in his hands. He didn’t even think about it, he grabbed it out of instinct.

He swallows. Nods to himself.

Setting the metal box down on his bed, Shiro considers his options. On one hand, Keith seems to mean him no harm. On the second, he also ran from the FBI, drugged him, and made indirect threats. The clicks of the clasps on the box opening under his fingers are loud in his ears.

By the time he steps out the front door, the gun is a heavy presence at the low of his back, and the digital alarm clock blinks into 9:00.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the child is fucking nuts i love her


	5. Hulk Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added tags in end notes!

_ At 9:05 PM a cab with tinted windows will turn the corner on 5’th and pass your house. Flag it down. /K _

It’s 9:02 and Shiro is trying not to stare at the corner where the car is supposed to arrive soon. Sunset has come and gone and the city is dark. The late august warmth is fading, and the smell of coming rain is heavy in the air. It’s pleasant enough, to stand here and wait. To try not to think of what’s coming or the gun tucked into his pants.

It’s almost dreamlike, watching the car appear. Like he’s not in control of his body when he waves and the vehicle comes to stop at the curb in front of him. When he opens the backseat door and climbs in. And then it’s as if a bubble pops, and he’s back in reality where he might just have done something incredibly stupid.

The first thing that hits him is that smell. Earthy and warm, and so very Keith. The car starts to move, and Shiro stares at Keith. 

He’s sitting in the backseat, so close Shiro can feel his body heat. 

It’s much worse, seeing him without a drug or blow to the head to mellow things out. This time, Keith is painfully clear. Dressed in all black with his hair in a messy braid, looking back at Shiro with what he can only describe as longing.

He doesn’t have the strength to think about what that means.

“We don’t have much time,” Keith says after what seemed like minutes, but in reality was probably no more than a few seconds. “You’re only going to Sal’s.”

“ _ I _ am going to Sal’s?” there’s more attitude in Shiro’s voice than he thought he’d muster. 

Then again, he never liked being pushed around like this.

Keith doesn’t comment. “Yes, you are. There’s a good chance you’ve been put under surveillance and we need to keep them on their toes.” Keith looks him right in the eye, “And you’re inviting Matt. Send him a text and ask him to meet you there.” -and he’s daring Shiro to refuse. The son of a bitch knows him too well.

Shiro fishes out his phone and starts to type. “And why exactly am I taking a cab and not my own car?”

“Because you plan on drinking until you see double, and you’re a good citizen who doesn’t drink and drive.”

Shiro adds that to his text. It’s sent before he gives it a second thought, and he turns the screen to show it to Keith. He nods, clears his throat.

“I know that this is confusing.” he begins. Shiro scoffs. “But if everything works out, it won’t be for much longer.”

“You know what would really help me out?” Shiro snaps, turning to face Keith with as much of his body as he can. “If you’d fucking tell me what  _ this _ is!”

Keith picks at his gloves, and he isn’t looking at Shiro anymore. But his voice is strong when he continues.

“Do you remember what I told you about my parents?” he asks, and Shiro is so surprised by the change of subject, the argument he’s building up for collapses in on itself. 

Shiro nods. Keith told him once, and only once, of how he’d lost his parents when he was six. His father was a firefighter, and his mother worked security. She was always working in new places, guarding one politician or another. They’d lived in a small house his parents built from scratch.

Everything had seemed perfect until it wasn’t.

“My mom picked me up from school one day…” Keith continues. “Bags packed in the trunk, and she was acting so weird.”

She’d driven far, leaving Arizona for California. While they drove, she made him practise his new last name, Gunderson. Keith didn’t understand, he didn’t want to change his name. But he practiced saying it with her anyway.

When he asked if his dad would meet them where they were going, his mom wouldn’t answer. She’d stare straight ahead and pretend not to have heard him, or reach out to stroke his cheek.

“She left me outside a building in Santa Barbara and told me to head inside. She said she’d be right there, and to remember my name.” Keith looks at him, checking in so that he’s listening. Shiro urges him to continue. “She left me there, and I waited for her or my dad to come and get me. The lady in the lobby told me not to hold my breath.”

It was at a social services office that Keith’s mother left him. He disappeared into the system just like any other abandoned child.

“The next day I saw our house on the news. It-”

“Burned down.” Shiro finishes with impatience. He remembers the story. Keith never saw or heard from either of his parents again, and the case of their disappearance and the torching of their house still lay open to this day. When he turned eighteen, Keith took back the surname he knew as a child partially to spite his parents, to go against their wishes. He’d been lost, and angry, for a long time. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because,” Keith counters Shiro’s annoyance. “Now I know what happened to them, and why they gave me up.”

Shiro feels his eyes go wide, a completely unwelcome giddiness blooming in his chest. He can’t believe his ears. “You found them?”

Keith offers a small smile, but Shiro sees how badly Keith wants to share, to tell him more. It’s as confusing as everything else. “My mom, but she’s the one who found me.”

A vague image of a woman crosses Shiro’s mind. A woman with dark hair that he saw just before someone hit him over the head after following Ulaz. He remembers, there was something familiar about her.

Familiar, because she looked like Keith?

“She had to leave me because she was under threat. They killed my dad to shut her up.” Keith cuts his train of thought. “They pushed her under ground. It was two years after Alfor went to prison.”

The words swirl around Shiro’s head, falling into place one by one like pieces of a puzzle. His phone buzzes with a reply from Matt but he doesn’t even think of reading it. The information Keith just poured on him kickstarts his suspicions from earlier in the day to life like the engine in a motorcycle, roaring and blazing. 

Keith doesn’t know how much he knows. That he’s starting to get it. Shiro needs to decide whether or not he’s ready to show his hand to Keith just yet.

He can practically hear his grandma muttering in his ear. If you’re uncertain, don’t go forward. Take a moment.

He listens.

“Things are very fragile right now.” Keith says when Shiro doesn’t respond. “Behind closed doors there was panic when Alfor woke up. It threw everything off balance.”

When Shiro looks back at Keith again he’s turned to look out the window, watching the first drops of rain smattering on the glass. He’s reaching out before he knows it, but stops himself. Wonders if Keith saw it in the windows reflection. “Keith-”

“Why do you think I left you my gun?” Keith interrupts him. His voice is different now, more vulnerable, softer. They’re nearing their destination.

“I think,” Shiro pauses, reassembling the words on his tongue three times over. “I think you gave it to me as a totem of your innocence. To prove that you didn’t fire the bullet that killed her.”

The sound of the blinkers coming on as the car starts to pull over is a nasty alarm, because it marks the end of the ride. The end of sitting close to Keith, basking in his warmth and pretending not to feel guilty and conflicted about it.

Getting out is probably a good thing.

Moments pass after the car has stopped, before Shiro makes himself shift and reach for the door. 

“Do you still think I did it?”

Keith’s voice is small and pleading, and Shiro has to fight the urge to turn back around and face him. Instead, he opens the car door and sets one foot on the ground. 

“I never did.” he says, and allows himself one quick glance at Keith’s reflection before letting the door slide completely open. 

It’s just enough to see the surprise, the little tug on the edge of his mouth.

\---

  
  
  


After hurrying through the now pouring rain into the pub, Shiro has some time to himself before Matt arrives. He spends it not actually scanning the menu he knows by heart. He just looks at it, a decent cover as his brain works on full speed. 

Keith’s mother is alive, and now she is here, working with Keith and assumably at least three other FBI agents to do what? Come after that same enemy as twenty years ago? Is that enemy still threatening people, or are they driven by revenge?

Were Keith’s mother and Alfor on the same side, or was it the mystery organisation that offed him?

And as if everything isn’t difficult enough, Keith and his family lived in Arizona at the time they got into trouble. Allura and Alfor lived here in DC. Is it an organization spread across the nation, or was one of the cases just a fluke?

Someone snatches the menu from his hands.

“Thank the stars we’re eating first, I’m starving!” Matt slips into the booth opposite of Shiro, stretching his legs under the table. He peeks out from behind the menu. “And we’ve both been there when you get wasted on an empty stomach and I’d rather not relive it.”

Shiro yanks the menu back and uses it to smack his friend over the head. They’d sworn to never talk about that.

Nyma comes over to take their drink-order before Matt can reciprocate. They ask for a pitcher of beer and they both end up ordering one each of the night’s special while they’re at it. Neither of them looked at the specials board, but at this point they both trust Sal not to serve them something they wouldn’t enjoy.

\---

  
  


“So are you going to tell me why we’re out getting shitfaced?” Matt raises a brow in question, and pops a piece of steamed carrot in his mouth.

“Because I can’t work the case, or any other case for that matter, anymore?” The answer comes out more like a question. Shiro knows that Matt is perfectly aware of Shiro’s work-situation. That’s supposed to be why they’re here.

Matt makes an offended noise and stabs a potato with his fork. “Who says?”

“The FBI says.” Shiro tries, but it’s halfhearted. He sees now where Matt is going with this.

“That you can’t work within the bureau, sure.” Matt talks with his mouth full. “Are you telling me you’re not going to keep working the case? Because me and Pidge already downloaded everything on your work computer.”

Shiro chokes.

When he’s done coughing, red faced and panting, he stares at his friend. Matt shrugs, and tosses a thumb drive that Shiro catches with his flesh hand. 

“We’ve got your back, man.” Matt says, smirking. 

Shiro looks around, scanning for anyone who might be watching. The place is almost full, and it’s getting loud. It’s too scrambled to overhear anyone easily, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t  _ eyes _ on them.

No one is sitting alone, no one that isn’t a regular at Sal’s looks familiar. He squeezes the drive in his hand. If somebody saw him get it, he’ll deal with it when he needs to. For now, he smiles back at his friend and tells him thanks.

“We’re still staying here a while, though.” Shiro grabs the half full pitcher and refills both of their glasses. Matt doesn’t object even a little.

—-

  
  


He doesn’t get that drunk. He’s not stupid. But he has to admit that having Matt and bourbon around to keep his mind from wandering for a while is nice. It reminds him of the life he wants to get back to.

They’d tumbled into a cab, Shiro laying it on thick to appear tipsier than he is. Matt however, lived up to his promise and got wasted enough to go cross eyed. Which is why Shiro is taking Matt with him home, so that if the genius moron hurls at least Shiro will be there to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own vomit.

He all but carries Matt inside, the other man laughing and slurring all the way up the stairs and into the apartment where Shiro dumps him on the couch.

“You’re like-“ Matt mutters, eyes fluttering closed once he’s curled up on the cushions. “Like wicked strong.”

Shiro laughs a little, pats his friend on the shoulder. “Have to be. Someone needs to carry you around.”

Matt doesn’t say anything, but reaches blindly for the remote. Shiro leaves him to it, and goes to put the gun still very present on his person back where it belongs.

When he stands there with the safe open and waiting for him to get on with it, he finds himself reaching for Alfor’s folder.

He probably shouldn’t be trying to work now, but his tipsy brain decides that why the hell not. He’s not tired, he can do some reading before clocking out. He nods to himself, and the folder comes with him back into the living room.

“Wh’s’dat?” Matt mumbles, half asleep and squinting, and points a finger at the thing under Shiro’s arm.

“Just some work.” Shiro sits down on the other end of the couch, Matt’s feet just barely nudging his thigh. “You go to sleep.”

Matt hums. On the TV that he managed to put on just to fall asleep a minute later, two women drive off a cliff in a Thunderbird. Shiro leaves it on, less likely to fall asleep with his face in twenty three year old notes with the sounds to accompany him.

It’s been maybe five minutes, and Shiro is rereading a newspaper clipping, when Matt stirrs. He grumbles, and Shiro looks up to check on him.

“M’didn’t mean th’tway.” He mumbles, and Shiro isn’t sure if the man is still asleep or not.

“Didn’t mean what?” He tries.

“N’t that kinda strong.” Matt says. Not asleep, then. “Y’re strong, on the inside, man. Hulk heart.”

—-

  
  


Another thing that made their night out a good idea, is that his subconscious works its best magic when left alone with his thoughts.

There’s something cooking at the back of his mind, has been all night. Now that he’s here, at home and tuned back into his brain, he feels the steam of it leak into his thoughts. It urges him on, and before long it’s almost two am and he’s sitting on the floor in his living room with Alluras gathered material and her fathers notes spread in a sloppy half circle before him. The sound of the late re-broadcast of the news on TV and Matt’s soft snores makes a decent backdrop to the silence of his own growing impatience.

There something here for him to find, he knows there is.

_ According to Wall Street Journal’s latest poll... _

Shiro looks up at the TV for a second, and reaches for the remote.

_ … youngest in history to be elected... _

It hits him like a freight train, the reoccurring name on the papers in his hands. Its significance, and his own blindness. He’s been so focused on what’s in front of him, he’s completely disregarded the bigger picture. Tunnel visioned, he missed something so nauseatingly obvious plastered on every flat surface in the country.

Shiro stares at the blindingly white teeth shooting him a crooked grin from the other side of the screen.

What the  _ fuck _ has he gotten himself into?

—-

  
  


As a kid, Shiro wanted to be an astronaut. He was very committed to his dream, reading endless pages of astronomy, only ever wishing for things such as telescopes and space related toys for birthdays and Christmas.

When he grew a little older, his family learned not to worry when the sun came down and he wasn’t in the house. They’d find him in the same spot each time, sitting on a boulder just far enough into the woods behind their house for the light pollution to start to fade. He’d sit there watching the stars, practicing constellations and daydreaming about the day he’d break through the atmosphere and gaze into the vastness of space.

He dreamt of the stars, of distant planets and alien species, for the better part of his childhood.

He was fifteen and digging his claws into The Birth of NASA: The Diary of T. Keith Glennan, when his perception of life and the world shattered all in a few moments.

It was lunch hour, and in the January cold Shiro did like everyone else and took refuge indoors. The cafeteria was crowded and loud, too stuffy for him to even think of setting foot in. The hallways were cold, the only place to sit being the alcove windowsills lining the hall. But Shiro and his friends had a spot. 

It was only ever them there. At the top of the stairs to the roof was a small space, something like forty feet and just barely enough for a small group of teenagers to hang out. There was some junk up there when they found it, random things that had somehow found their way to that spot over the years. A torn gym mat, an old crate. Some of it got stuffed into a corner, and the rest Shiro and his friends used as furniture.

That’s where he had his first kiss, and most of his fondest memories from high school takes place there. But it’s also where the worst happened, and it could never be the same after that.

He turned the page in his book, blowing a wild stand of hair that tickled his nose.

“Your hair is in my face.” He said, and shoved the boy who had his head resting on Shiro’s shoulder good heartedly.

“Yeah? Deal with it.” Adam teased him, shoving back. Shiro snickered, kissing the top of his boyfriends hair with a loud, theatrical smack.

“You guys are disgusting.” The girl sitting opposite of Adam - Marie - said, but there was no bite in her words. “Absolutely disgusting.”

“You’re just jealous!” The forth teen, a boy named Henrich, cackled. He leaned in closer to Marie and pouted. “I’ll smooch you if you think it’ll help.”

Marie groaned, smacking her hand in the boys face. Henrich made kissy noises against her palm, unfazed. Adam laughed, the movements of his body reverberating in Shiro’s.

“I don’t have to sit here and deal with this.” Marie declared, standing up. “I’m getting jello.”

Adam perked up, he too getting to his feet. “I’m coming too!”

The two boys left watched the others disappear down the stairs, Henrich calling after them and Marie flipping him off over her shoulder.

The first shot came just as Shiro turned to page thirty six. The sound bounced on the walls up the stairs, and before Shiro could even register what the sound was, the second pang followed. Then a third, a forth, too many for Shiro to keep up with.

People started screaming, the sound booming in the narrow staircase and Shiro was struck by the worst cold he’d ever experience.

Without thinking, he moved down the stairs. He needed to be there, he needed to help. To  _ do something. _

He was halfway down when a hand grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back. He struggled, adrenaline running through him like electricity, but his friend wrestled him to the floor at the top of the stairs.

“Are you out of your mind?” Henrich hissed, holding him down with his entire body. Shiro wanted to scream at him to let go, but the other boy clasped a hand over his mouth. “We need to stay fucking quiet, Shiro!”

Shiro kicked his legs, angry tears streaming down his face and pooling in the shells of his ears.

He never saw Adam or Marie again.

—-

A long time ago, Shiro decided to dedicate his life to making the world he lived in better. A peaceful place, worthy of the prospects of other civilizations far from Earth.

He’s faced many horrors since then. Few of them as terrible as the day he realized he’d fought a needless war.

When he returned home, lost and full of guilt, he had to decide which man he was going to be. And after careful consideration, he found himself shining his shoes and catching criminals for the FBI.

He’s come a long way since then. Countless leads followed up on, riddles solved, bad guys caught. He and his partner were among the best ever in DC at the beginning of this year, according to their track record.

And yet he’d somehow missed this.

Lotor Sincline, the youngest person in US history to receive a senators pin, and now the youngest to not only run for president at thirty nine years old, but be a favorite to  _ win _ .

Lotor Sincline, who is also the only son of one retired senator that had his office broken into twenty three years ago.

The operation that Keith said was thrown off balance with Alfor waking up, it’s big. It has to be. All Shiro had to figure out was what could be so huge and secret a whole bunch of FBI agents were willing to bury multiple cases in order to keep eyes off their business. And this? It has to be it.

There’s no way it’s not.

On the TV the news has shifted into weather, but Shiro still sees the ghost of Lotor’s face on the screen. He feels the need to scream, to kick his legs like he did when he was fifteen.

Because just like back then, there’s nothing for him to do but wait.

There’s a crawling under his skin, conflicting with the ache in his limbs that he’s actively ignored ever since he got back to find Keith’s note earlier in the night. He’s entered his third day without sleep, and it’s starting to catch up to him. 

With a tired grunt, he heaves himself off the floor. He gathers the papers, checks on Matt, flicks the lightswitch. 

When he looks back at himself in the bathroom mirror, he can’t help but wince. He looks like hell, and the more he lets himself think about it, the more apparent it becomes how shitty he actually feels. Suddenly the little itch of the four day stubble is annoying, the buildup on unbrushed teeth growing in his mouth.

He tries to make quick work of it, but his movements are sluggish no matter how much he itches to just  _ move _ . But he gets there eventually, clean shaven and brushing his teeth under the shower spray. 

When he’s back in front of the mirror, he’s met with fog, and he’s hit by the urge to crush the damn thing for the metaphor that mocks him with that. Because that’s what it’s been like, for so long now. Whenever he tries to take a step in the right direction, all he finds are more smoke screens.

The mirror swings out of sight as he opens the cabinet, and shakes a couple of little white pills into the palm of his hand before he can tell himself not to. It’s not like he’s not supposed to take them when he needs to. He just doesn’t want to. They represent too much of a part of him he’d rather move on from. The one who screamed into the night, haunted by demons and horrors he thought he’d never escape.

He pops them in his mouth and swallows. 

Back in his bedroom he digs out a pair of clean sweats to sleep in, gets himself under the covers, and waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: (memory of:)high school shooting, (memory of:)character death, excessive drinking, prescription drugs  
> \--
> 
> our boy's been through some stuff pls love him


	6. Lucky stars

Shiro wakes up to daylight. The alarm clock tells him he’s slept until noon for the first time in years. For a few moments, it feels good. Like he could stay in his warm cocoon and just enjoy feeling well rested.

But last night comes creeping back, climbing up his spine and making him squirm. He’s up and out of bed in less than thirty seconds.

He registers the faint smell of coffee only when he leaves the bedroom, and follows it back to the kitchen where Matt is sitting at the table. His long hair is a mess, and he looks a little green.

“I have regrets.”

It’s all he says, and Shiro doesn’t have much to offer in return. Instead he refills Matt’s coffee cup before pouring one for himself. On the table, the pile of papers is calling out like a big, barking dog. He gets back to it, the sound of pages turning the only thing filling out the space as he works and Matt nurses his hangover.

Rereading the material with a fresh new angle is, as one would predict, quite helpful. Not because of what he finds, but more because of what he doesn’t.

Whatever Alfor thought senator Zarkon Daibazaal was up to back then, the journalist was careful not to mix any details with the plans for his break-in. Between the lines, Shiro finds the accusations of corruption, but there isn’t much else. In the paper articles Allura saved, there’s not a single mention of the reason Alfor broke into the senator's office. No hints on why he was there, in many not even a mention of the senator by name.

It didn’t pop out at Shiro earlier. Journalism hasn’t changed in the past two decades. The hunger and competition to provide the most juice in their story has always been the same. The lack of detail and detective work in the articles, the fact there’s no one saying how they’ve been denied access to information, it all points to someone actively silencing the media.

”So you think Zarkon bribed the newspapers into silence?” Matt asks once he’s back with the living and Shiro has caught him up with his findings. The man instantly lost the little color he’d gotten back, but after a minute or two of processing Shiro’s words, the determined little spark that was his family trademark lit up in his eyes.

“That would make the most sense.” Shiro says. “There’s been allegations of corruption with him before, but the same goes for practically every senator there’s ever been.”

Matt hums, and gets to his feet. There’s some rustling of him moving around the apartment, leaving Shiro to continue his reading.

Then there’s a clatter when his own car keys land on the table before him. Next to him, Matt is bent over attempting to pull one of his socks on. “C’mon big guy, we’re going to the lab.”

—-

  
  


“Let me get this straight-“ Hunk sounds like they’ve told him hostile aliens have landed. “You’re going to hack into the computer of one of the presidential candidates? For real?”

“Yes.” Matt and Shiro speak in unison, both seated at Matt’s desk and not even looking at the engineer breaking out in nervous sweats behind them.

It’s Saturday, so Shiro didn’t really count on anyone else being here when they came rushing in with very little discretion. Thankfully, the one person to find them was just Hunk. 

“I wish you didn’t tell me that.” He whines, and Shiro understands him. Hunk tends to stay as far away from action as he can, but once he gets dragged in he’s never once wavered, for as long as Shiro has known him.

He doesn’t even question their motives.

Instead, he leaves only to reappear with caffeine and some pastries, before he goes back to whatever project he was working on before his friends burst in and ruined his day.

Shiro doesn’t understand much of what is happening on Matt’s screen, and he definitely can’t help, but here he is. Where else is he supposed to be? What can he do right now?

His mind starts to wander as Matt types away on his keyboard. He doesn’t really want to admit to himself what he thinks about the organization Keith is with, can’t really put it out there and risk having it proved wrong. There’s a good chance his heart can’t take it to be wrong.

But behind the protective wall he’s built himself, Shiro believes that whatever the hell is going on, Keith and the others must be the good guys. It makes the most sense. 

But he’s not going to think about that.

He’s up and out of Matt’s office before he’s formed a new string of thought, but he’s getting there. Heading down the hall, de digs out the piece of paper on which Griffin had scribbled down his private phone number when he came to Shiro’s house.

“Hunk?” Shiro sticks his head inside, looking around the room. There’s clanking and tinkering revealing Hunk’s presence, but he can’t spot the man anywhere among the towering machines.

“You’re not going to take down the government are you? Because I won’t build any killer robots okay, it’s not happening.”

Hunk is trying to sound like he’s only joking, but there’s an obvious shade of apprehension in his voice. 

“I promise I’m not.” 

A moment later, Hunk rolls out from under a monstrous piece of machinery on a creeper, squinting up at Shiro. “Okay.”

Shiro reaches out to help his friend to his feet, staining his hand with soot and grease. Hunk offers him a pump of sand scrub and a towel, and gets on with cleaning himself off at the sink.

It’s quiet for a little while.

“Does this have something to do with Keith and Allura?” Hunk asks eventually, still with his back turned to Shiro. He’s washing suds down the drain, just avoiding the moment he’ll have to turn around. Shiro considers lying to him, for multiple reasons. Partially because he doesn’t want to burden Hunk with something he won’t be of much help with, involving him and putting that stress on him when there’s no need. But there’s also a question of discretion. The more people who know what they’re up to, the more vulnerable they’ll be.

“Yeah.” He ends up saying anyway. “The whole thing is a lot bigger than we thought, Hunk.  _ A lot  _ a lot.”

“I figured.” Hunk says. “Had to be a reason they kicked you out. No way you’d go willingly, y’know?”

Shiro doesn’t say anything. He looks down at the slip of paper pinched between his fingers, and considers again to just go and leave Hunk out of it.

“So how can I help?”

Hunk is turned to him now. Eyebrows pinched, fear and worry clear as day on his face and in his body language. Shiro tries to look reassuring, encouraging. He lifts his hand, letting Hunk see the note.

“I need to borrow your phone.”

\---

  
  


Shiro sends Griffin a text from Hunk’s phone, asking him if he’d managed to get anywhere with his task yesterday. There’s no instant reply, and even though Shiro knows that’s not something he can expect, he still finds himself asking all the worst questions. Has Griffin been caught? Did he chicken out? 

Hunk pats him on the back.

They’re in the breakroom, which is a fully equipped kitchen and Hunk’s second playground. The man’s passion for food is probably the reason the Holt siblings have been kept alive this long. He’s currently mixing something in a bowl, but Shiro isn’t paying much attention.

He thinks about the place he followed Ulaz to. They wouldn’t go back there again, Shiro is sure. But if they moved on to the another location, that means there was most likely somewhere for them to go already set up. And he had been knocked out for less than twenty minutes, based on the time passed between when he entered the building and when he got loose. That doesn’t make for much time to empty out the space, which can only mean the place in question was probably never their headquarters but a meetup point.

Because they must have some sort of headquarters. If they’ve been around for over twenty years, there’s bound to be physical evidence of their operation that needs to be stored and secured somewhere. 

If he can only find it, he can finally get some answers. 

A plate comes down on the counter he’s leaning on, sliding and stopping right between his elbows.

He blinks down at the plate, where a half moon of golden brown and some vegetables look right back at him. Shiro turns to Hunk, who’s headed for the door with a second plate of steaming food for Matt. He never even noticed the smell of eggs cooking, too lost in thought.

“It’s a soufflé omelette!” Hunk calls over his shoulder just as he disappears out the door. “Eat it while it’s hot!”

Shiro’s stomach rumbles.

He’s three bites in when Hunk returns, this time with a grimace. He nods down the hall. “You should come hear this.”

Hunk has trouble keeping up with Shiro as he jogs down to Matt’s office. There he finds his friend tapping frenetically, eyes wide.

“What’s going on?”

Matt curses. “Something is definitely off here man. I should be able to get in from here, we’re on the same network and not to be like that but I’m real fucking good at this.”

Shiro stares at the monitor, but it’s all a big blur to him. He’ll just have to take Matt’s word for it. “You’re not getting in?”

“No!” Matt practically yells. “This firewall is insane, tons more complex than it should be on a US government computer. Someone’s put some real time into this.”

Hunk and Shiro hover over Matt’s shoulder, watching him try to keep up with the code running too fast for Shiro to follow on the screen. Matt mutters curses under his breath, sweat starting to pearl at his brow.

Suddenly, the entire window goes white. Matt slams his hands down on the keyboard and screams. “Fuck!”

He deflates, sinking back into his chair and staring at the empty window. “Sorry, Shiro.”

Shiro squeezes his shoulder. “It’s fine. If anything, this tells us Sincline really does have things to hide, if he’s gone out of his way to make sure people stay out of his business.”

Matt makes a displeased noise, frustration rolling off him in waves.

Then, there’s a ping of an incoming message on Hunk’s phone.

—-

  
  


Shiro gets on the orange line towards New Carrollton at the courthouse station, third car from the front. It’s early afternoon on a Saturday, and the people of Washington DC are out and about. The subway car is crowded, but he finds Griffin easily enough. Sitting at the front next to a teenager with large headphones, the agent appears relaxed. The only thing that betrays him is the white of his knuckles where he’s clutching his bag tight.

Shiro goes to stand next to him, one hand on the back of his seat.

“I got you a copy of the file on Alfor’s death, and one of your case.” He says, and Shiro raises an eyebrow in surprise. “I figured you would want it if it was possible, and I was alone in the office this morning so I thought-“

“Thank you.” Shiro interrupts, offering the young agent a grateful smile. “It will be of much help, I’m sure.”

Griffin nods, letting go of some of the stiffness in his shoulders.

“I do have another job for you, though. If you’re up for it.” Shiro continues. Griffin tilts his head to look him in the eye, and there’s the same determination there as before.

“Of course, sir.” 

Shiro reaches into his back pocket, and drops the object in Griffin's hand. It’s a tiny, black usb drive that Matt sent with him.

“I need you to plug this into Kolivan’s computer. When the computer is on but not in use, you call the number I texted you from, and they will do their thing. They’ll tell you when to retrieve the drive.” Shiro explains, scanning the man for any signs of hesitation. He doesn’t find any. “If we’re not lucky, you may have to do the same on other agents computers. You need to be careful.”

Griffin only nods again, putting the drive in his pocket. 

They both get off the train at the Smithsonian. In the rush of people getting off Shiro takes the bag from Griffin, and they dart off in different directions.

—-

  
  


He heads straight back to his apartment and gets to reading.

As expected, the official information on Alfor’s murder is sparse. Griffin has sent along his own notes, which fills in some of the blanks, but it’s hard to get much from only crime scene documentation and a handful of quick interviews.

Like Griffin had told him, no one seems to have any idea of how the murder could have occurred. It happened just before noon, and as far as anyone’s saying, there are no witnesses of anyone out of place coming or going.

The doctor who has been caring for Alfor in the past year, or at least been assigned as his primary doctor while he was still in a coma, wasn’t present that day, and wasn’t contacted before the case got suspended.

Shiro adds the name Dr Romelle Davila to his notes.

Whoever it was that killed Allura’s father, they made quick work of it. Slit his throat, quick and deep. It was efficient, and methodical. They knew exactly what to do to make sure the man was beyond saving once he was discovered.

If Lotor or his father are the ones sending people to assassinate brain damaged old men on the off chance they still remember whatever dirt they once had on Zarkon - what else are they capable of getting away with? What made it worth it, killing Alfor so openly?

Shiro sets up his laptop, and gets to studying the upcoming election and the people involved.

He sits there long past sundown, reading article after article, looking for crumbs.

By the time his stomach is too loud and empty to go ignored anymore, it’s almost midnight, and Shiro has a decent grip on the presidential candidates and much of their surroundings. He’s halfway through a second serving of instant mac and cheese, reflecting over everything he’s just read, when a distant memory of a news broadcast wedges itself into the line of thoughts.

The candidate who makes the best competitor against Lotor Sincline in the election is a woman named Ryner Olkari. A middle aged woman with a history as a professor in ecology as well as a spokesperson for green politics and social democratic values. In the latest polls, the two are right at each other’s heels, making Olkari a viable threat.

Back in January this year, Olkari cut it close in a bad car accident. She spent many weeks in the hospital, and her absence had devastating results for her campaign. She has since regained her popularity, but at the time it seemed like she might be out of the game entirely. There had even been suspicions of foul play, that her vehicle had somehow been tampered with. It was not something she addressed personally, but there had been many whispering voices surrounding her accident.

What if that is exactly what happened? Could Lotor have had his opponents car sabotaged in order to get her out of the way?

Shiro sighs. It’s harder than he would have anticipated, working without access to his usual tools for investigation. He can’t call anyone in for questioning, can’t access criminal or medical records. At least not easily.

He’s stuck with his second hand knowledge and gut feeling, for now.

—-

  
  


Sunday is more of the same. Shiro spends hours upon hours on his laptop, and drawing out a thought map all over the living room wall. Downtown, Matt and Pidge are digging up what they can on a bunch of names and events he sent them earlier in the day. 

The best part about having the Holt’s helping him is how nobody will even quirk an eyebrow at the two of them working odd hours and acting secretive, because that’s been standard Holt behavior for always. It’s comforting, knowing he doesn’t have to worry about their discretion as long as they’re locked up in the lab. 

It’s well into the afternoon, and he’s looking further into Ryner Olkari’s closest circle, when he almost breaks out laughing, hardly believing his luck.

He’s on Ryner’s assistant’s Facebook page, aiming to look for useful ties. There’s no need to even start scrolling, because right there in the photo the woman has set as her cover photo, she’s posing for the camera with three friends. On the right end, arm slung over the assistant’s shoulders and sunglasses askew, is  _ James Griffin _ .

After some poking around, Shiro can conclude that Griffin and this Nadia Rizavi go way back. The college photos of the two of them on Rizavi’s Instagram seem endless, and even if they don’t seem to be as keen on sharing their every moment with the world anymore, Shiro can tell they’re still close. They interact with each other on multiple social media platforms on a regular basis, and Shiro is suddenly more glad that James had decided to go with his instinct and search Shiro out than he was yesterday.

He sends the young agent a text from the burner cell Matt has provided him with, and can’t help the little smile tugging on his lips when he circles Rizavi’s name in red marker on the wall.

This is good. He’s getting somewhere.

—-

  
  


With the dawn of a new week peeking through the trees across the street from his bedroom window, Shiro gets thrown for a loop. 

When he wakes up, it’s to the constant pinging of his burner receiving messages from Matt. It’s six in the morning and Shiro can imagine the crazed, bloodshot eyes twitching behind Matt’s glasses as he types out the messages.

He grabs the buzzing phone and rolls out of bed, standing before the case map before his sleep-foggy brain has even the slightest chance of catching up.

As it turns out, Doctor Romelle Davila (MD) lost her parents and younger brother in a home robbery gone wrong. The fourteen year old girl was badly hurt as well, but managed to pull through. She was there after placed with relatives in Minnesota, and returned to DC after getting her medical degree. At George Washington University Hospital she continued her studies in neurology, as well as working hours at different institutions such as the medical wing at Alfor’s prison.

With death in the family being a reoccurring factor in the case so far, the Holts dug deeper into the doctor's parents. The father was a university professor in physics, with seemingly no ties to Zarkon or anything along those lines. The mother, however, made her living as a researcher at a major tech company. According to records, her work never took any turns either which way, and at first glance she seemed to have no issues with her employers. But, after a closer look, Pidge had found her name on the short list of people working a classified project that was terminated days before her passing. The project in question had gone up in smoke, and all other evidence of Mrs Davila ever coming near it had been neatly scrubbed out of existence.

The company in question, to little surprise, was and still is owned by Zarkon Daibazaal. 

Galra Tech, Shiro reads, is a forward developer of protective armor for military use. At the time of the Davila family’s death, the company was developing a new textile material that would help absorb the impact of bullets and shrapnel in combat. The project was put on hold around the same time, with a press release stating that other projects had come to take more time and effort than anticipated and needed to be tended too before moving forward.

It’s easy for Shiro to assume at this point, that Mrs Davila was some sort of whistle blower or posed some other sort of threat to the company name in relation to the project, and was killed therefor.

A kind of anger that Shiro rarely lets himself tap into crackles and sends sparks coursing through his veins. The fact this man and, apparently, now also his son have been committing these types of crimes - right under the nose of law enforcement, is more than Shiro knows how to deal with. 

He decides, right then and there. If Keith and the others are actually working to bring Zarkon and his associates down; Shiro needs to help them do it.

—-

  
  


After lunch he’s still processing the information he got on Dr Davila, digging to find where in her timeline she may have come into contact with the organization Keith and his mother, Ulaz and the others work for. Because there’s simply no way that the doctor got herself set up as Alfor’s primary doctor for no reason. She must be part of it. Everything else seems impossible.

So far he’s got nothing, and he hopes the Holts will have better luck.

He’s yanked off his trail of thought when the doorbell rings. He tenses, not expecting anyone. For a moment, he considers to retrieve his gun from the safe. But what idiot attacker would alarm him by ringing the doorbell, anyway?

It rings again.

With a roll of his shoulders, he squares himself. It might as well be Girl Scouts selling cookies, religious nuts offering to save him from damnation.

It’s not. But he sure wishes it would have been, seeing the expression on James Griffin’s face where he stands on Shiro’s doormat. He’s got a box of what Shiro recognizes as trinkets from his own office in his arms, and Shiro understands.

“Who sent you?” He asks when the agent doesn’t say anything.

“Kolivan did, sir.” James sounds defeated, looking like a kicked puppy. Shiro considers this, but steps aside to let the other man inside nonetheless.

In the living room, he scribbles a question on a piece of paper and shows it to James.

_ Did you check for bugs? _

He nods. “It’s all clean.”

Shiro gestures for him to set the box down on the coffee table, and turns back to look at the growing map covering his wall. “I’m pretty sure we can trust him, even if the feeling isn’t mutual just yet. But it’s better to be careful. You did well.”

Griffin thanks him, coming to stand next to Shiro and scanning the map with wide eyes. Then, he reaches something for Shiro. “He made a point of that you probably missed your planner.”

The leather bound calendar is a familiar weight in his hands, soft from wear. Ulaz gave it to him at Christmas. Shiro scowls at what a clueless fool he’d been, back then. And suddenly he wonders, if despite everything, if everything turns out alright - will he be able to forgive his partner, his boss, for their betrayal of his trust? Will he forgive Keith?

He pushes the thought aside, starts to flip through the calendar. That’s a question for much later.

Shiro shakes his head at the message left for him when he finds it. With how complicated everything is, he should be glad to find some things are just that easy. But he’s not.

It pisses him off how Keith can reach him whenever he wants to, but Shiro can’t do the same.

In the box for notes on today’s date, there’s an appointment in someone else’s handwriting. There’s a time, and an address, no signature. 

He rips the page out and tosses the planner on the couch behind him. He’s got a few hours, and for now there are other things he needs to focus on.

And once again, Griffin has done precisely what was asked of him. Kolivans computer has been cloned, and Matt is going over it as they speak. 

“He should be checking in with you soon.” he says, accepting the cup of tea Shiro offers him. Shiro has asked him to stay, and the poor man is clearly confused. 

“I need to talk to you about a friend of yours.” he explains, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. “She’s currently employed as Ryner Olkari’s assistant.”

“Oh.” Shiro doesn’t miss how the tips of Griffin’s ears redden. So that’s why they’re not as open about their relationship on social media anymore. “Nadia? What about her?”

“I need the two of you to set up a meeting with me and her boss.” Shiro says, matter of fact. He doesn’t need to hear it’ll be difficult, that they have a very busy schedule. 

Griffin seems to understand as much.

“I’ll make it happen.” he says. He looks down at the tea in his hands. “Was that… all?”

“No.” Shiro leans forward, arms resting on his knees. “How much does your friend tell you about her work?”

“Honestly? More than she should, probably. She’s-” James hesitates, choosing his words. “Very social, talkative.”

“That’s good to hear.” Shiro comments. “Good for us.”

Much like Shiro thought, Olkari did suspect that her car accident was not in fact accidental. But running the risk of calling attention to that fact had been ruled out, as it could damage her credibility to make accusations she couldn’t provide proof to support. It would also have put her in further danger, if she agitated her enemy by pointing fingers.

Nadia doesn’t know exactly who Ryner suspects of the attempt at her life, but from where Shiro’s sitting - it’s all pointing back to Sincline and his campaign.

James also tells him there’s been many threats to Olkari lately, but that it’s - according to Nadia - to be expected. Things get more intense the closer to the election they get, and threats are common.

Shiro asks Griffin to talk to his friend and see if her boss has any ties to the FBI, or any other government institution outside of her professional life. The agent agrees to do so, and promises to stay in touch, before he takes his leave.

After that, it takes less than half an hour before Matt calls and tells him to get his ass to the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might have made romelle a doctor because i need her to check my blood pressure and smack me in the face with her clipboard, sue me


	7. Shatter the earth

“Hey, man.” Hunk greets him at the door, holding it open for Shiro to step in. “How you holding up?”

“Things are coming along.” Shiro says, pointedly avoiding the question. Things are too messed up, he wouldn’t be able to answer it if he wanted too. 

Hunk doesn’t push, but it’s not without a disgruntled grimace that he reroutes the conversation. “Pidge looked into the people who worked with the doc’s mom at Galra Tech. They’re all alive. One’s in prison, the rest have jumped professions. High school teacher, race car mechanic…”

“Think they’ve been blackmailed to stay quiet?” 

Hunk looks a little green, and nods. “We’re not sure. But yeah, probably.”

Shiro grunts, swinging the door to the main lab open with a bit too much force. Hunk flinches next to him, putting a few feet between them as if Shiro’s going to lash out at him. “We’re looking into it, but these people were disturbingly good at covering their tracks already fifteen years ago.”

“You’ll get there.” Shiro tries to sound reassuring, but the clock ticking down to when he needs to go meet Keith is starting to get too loud in his head, too present in his bones. He’s too stressed, too wound up by all the leads that are starting to pile up at his feet.

And now he’s here for some more to add to that pile.

When he enters Matt’s office, his friend hardly spares him a glance before he goes off. “There you are! Oh, my boy, do I have a treat for you. Your little friend at the bureau did great, by the way. It’s a good thing I’ve hacked your computer like three times because I could sort out the standard stuff pretty quickly.”

Matt looks back at Shiro again, flashing him an apologetic smile when he sees the look on Shiro’s face. He loves his friends, but at this point he’s far beyond jokes and goofing around.

“Anyway.” Matt clears his throat. “Your boss only keeps one non work related program on his computer. Here.” Shiro steps closer to look at the link on the cloned desktop Matt is pointing a finger at. It’s the notepad icon, but Shiro figures Matt is implying it’s a cover. He clicks it. “It’s software to a custom tracking device. It took me a while, but once I got in I found out he’s tracking what seems to be two vehicles. The program doesn’t save any past movements, but you can see exactly where the cars are right at the moment and whether or not they’re running.”

A map has appeared on the screen before them, and two purple dots sit pointed out on it. For the time being, they both seem to be at the same place, in a suburban area downtown.

“I’ve been keeping track for the past hour or so, and they both stopped here right after I called you. They’ve been dormant since then so I figured, if we go there-”

“We’re not going.” Shiro cuts him off. “No way we’re going in blind like that. You will keep an eye on this until I say otherwise.”

Matt sinks into his seat, but doesn’t make any complaints. “Alrighty then.”

Shiro puts a hand to his friend’s shoulder. “Thank you, Matt.”

“Anytime, brobeans.” Matt shrugs his shoulder to reciprocate. “What are you going to do now?”

“Keith has asked me to meet him.” Shiro digs out the page he’s ripped out of his planner, and shows it to Matt. He’s got another hour before he has to be at the written location. “He left me another message.”

“You sure you should go alone?” Matt takes the paper, turns it over a couple of times as if it’s going to tell him anything but what’s written there. “It’s not like it’s gone all that great most times you’ve seen him lately.”

“He won’t talk to me if I bring company.” Shiro says, taking a seat on the chair next to Matt’s at the desk. “That much I’m sure of.”

\---

  
  


When he arrives at the location, which turns out to be something as mundane as a Burger King, Shiro understands the choice of venue. The parking lot is overflowing, littered with burgundy and gold. Inside its crowded with football fans, gathered to devour junk food before or after whatever Redskins event they’ve left the house for tonight. It’s rowdy and loud, making it impossible for anyone to eavesdrop without shoving their ear in their faces.

Before he left the lab, he and Matt had watched one of the purple marks on the map start to blink, moving further downtown and eventually coming to stop here. Which means, it’s not the enemy vehicles Kolivan is tracking, but his own.

Shiro gets in line, looking around for Keith. It’s hard to see anything further than three feet ahead with how many people are occupying the space, and he can’t catch a glimpse of a single head of black, glossy hair from here.

After a while, he’s at the front, getting cursed at for not knowing what to order by hopped up sports fans behind him. He ends up ordering some fries, and darts off to the side to get a better look at the restaurant.

He’s starting to grow impatient, when someone slides up to stand next to him. In a heartbeat, he’s hit with everything between surprise and worry for Keith’s state of health.

But the moment passes quickly, and he realizes; he’s simply assumed that the message was from Keith. The thought of anyone else summoning him like that never even crossed his mind.

Kolivan looks at him seriously, calculating. Neither of them speak, but Kolivan eventually nods toward a small, amazingly unoccupied, table right in the middle of the mess of people. Shiro can only follow, sliding into the worn chair across from the man he’s looked up to and respected for many years. 

It’s a strange, strange kind of feeling.

“I hope you understand,” Kolivan breaks the long silence, leaning forward and threading his fingers on the table. “that the reason I had to dismiss you from the bureau was to keep you safe. You were calling a dangerous amount of attention to yourself and your work to find Kogane.”

Shiro remains quiet, trying hard to keep his face passive as he lets the older man speak.

“I must admit that I underestimated the strength of the bonds you share with your missing colleagues. We didn’t count on you holding on so tightly.” the director pins him with the sharp gaze that’s forced confessions out of countless criminals over the years. One Shiro always found so impressive. “You’re a good agent, Shirogane. And a better man, at that. I am sorry for what you’ve had to go through.”

He feels the mask he’s put on start to crack at the words. What is that even supposed to mean?

“There are many things you don’t know, still, even if I have a feeling you’ve uncovered a great amount thanks to your friends within the system.” Kolivan continues. “I assume that Keith’s ill-advised visits stoked the flame, did they?”

“Ill-advised?” Shiro finds himself repeating the word. Something untouchable twists in his chest.

“You didn’t know.” Kolivan looks surprised for a second, but it’s swept away just like any other tells on his face in the blink of an eye. “Keith has jeopardized a lot, in order to stay in touch with you, Shiro. Against the orders given to him by his superiors, as well as his own better judgement.”

He pauses, watches Shiro for a reaction. Shiro tries not to let his surprise show, the sudden burst of warmth. He doesn’t know if he’s just doing a bad job, or if Kolivan’s surreal observation powers are just getting the better of him, but he sees the knowing shine to his eyes. “He’s always been reckless. It’s one of many reasons he was kept out of all this for as long as possible.”

Relief washes over Shiro like hot water. Keith hadn’t lied to him since the beginning. It’s like a painful knot unravels somewhere in him, and he exhales as if he’s been punched in the gut. Across the table, Kolivan watches him still.

“I’m telling you this, because it’s been decided you’ll be better off under our protection.” the older man retracts his arms, and makes to stand. “You’ve got nasty eyes on you, Shiro, but if you’ll let us, we can keep you safe.”

\---

  
  


Part of him is glad, to finally be here. But mostly, as he fastens his seatbelt in the very car he knows Matt is currently keeping a close eye on on the other side of town, he feels annoyed. Annoyed to be presumed unfit to keep himself out of harm’s way, unable to finish what he’s started here.

It’s probably stupid, holding on to his pride instead of accepting the help. But he can’t help but suspect there’s going to be a prize demanded of him for this. One he’s not going to like.

The ride is quiet, nothing but the steady sounds of a moving car filling the space for a long while. Shiro doesn’t bother asking where they’re headed, there’s no going back now and he’s not really interested in doing so. He knows what there is behind them, but ahead lies new answers. Stepping stones to whatever end this roller coaster ride might reach.

Kolivan drives them out of the city, down a long strip of empty road. It’s straight and fairly flat, impossible for anyone to shadow them without getting noticed. From there, they take a turn onto an old, cracked and worn road. It leads them to an industrial area that has seen better days, all rust and overgrown weeds. The fallen, bent sign tells him there used to be a warehouse for city construction materials here.

They drive up to the main gate, and Kolivan rolls down his tinted window. A moment later, there’s a loud buzz and the sound of a mechanical lock. The gate opens, and a garage door slides open at the end of the building on their right side.

The garage is dark and empty when the door closes behind them. Once out of the car, Shiro follows Kolivan towards the back wall, where light sleeps through the cracks around a single door. The air is damp, and the place smells like mold and iron. 

Beyond the door is a corridor, with fluorescent lights and chipped concrete walls. Above them, exposed wiring runs everywhere, giving off a soft hum and whir. It’s eerie, if anything.

The further down the corridor they get, the more sounds he can pick up on. There’s a metallic clanking, like someone’s digging through a pile of junk. There’s a faint sound of music. And voices.

They take a turn down the corner, and through a flaking set of double doors. Shiro freezes in the doorway. Theoretically, he knew that he was going to see at least some familiar faces once brought here. However, knowing something is true and actually living it are two very different things.

The room they’ve stepped into seems to be an old break room, with a fridge and a discolored counter. Coffee maker, microwave. A big table lined with ratty chairs. And on some of those chairs, people have paused their conversation to look at them.

Instantly, Shiro is drawn to a set of familiar eyes. Wide and dark and a beautiful, purpleish blue. Framed by strands of dark hair, part of a sharp face. But it’s not Keith, looking back at him. Instead, it’s a woman. Maybe in her fifties, but beautiful and bright looking. The resemblance to her son is uncanny.

Next to her, watching him carefully and wearing that frustratingly unreadable expression Shiro has grown not to pry into, is Ulaz. There are two more people present, but Shiro doesn’t recognize either of them.

Before he can decide what to do with himself, Kolivan is gesturing to another door, just beyond the fridge on the right side wall. “Through there and to the right, third door to the left. We will be here to talk, when you get back.”

Shiro doesn’t question him. Doesn’t linger, or let the eyes on him get under his skin. He tries not to make it obvious, when he hurries across the room and through that door.

He can hear the consistent thump of punches, the labored breath, the voice of someone putting all their strength into every hit, and he knows that voice. He’s through the door to the makeshift gym in a breath, his body acting without him as is so often the case when it comes to Keith.

For a long moment, he watches the younger man. Keith has his back turned to him, serving blow after blow to the patched up punching bag swinging with the force before him. He’s got his hair tied back in a low ponytail, wisps of black hair sticking to the sweat damp skin on his neck. His red tank top is sticking to his frame, to the taut muscle shifting as he moves.

Fast, strong, and strikingly beautiful.

When Shiro finally takes a step inside and lets the door click closed behind him, Keith catches the swinging bag between his hands, and looks over his shoulder. His eyes widen, a myriad of emotions swiping through them like the pages of an open book caught in a gust of wind.

“Shiro?”

—-

  
  


Keith is standing in front of Shiro, two feet away and looking completely bewildered, in the matter of seconds. His hands gravitate outward as if to reach for Shiro, but they stop at a respectable distance. Just like last time.

“How did you get here?” He breathes, still panting.

“Kolivan.” Shiro offers, simple as that. Keith seems to understand what it means, realization flashing over his face. “We talked about the times you’ve come to see me lately.”

Keith isn’t surprised. Instead, there’s a crooked little smile, almost bashful. A quiet laugh. “The others almost had my head. I wasn’t supposed to interact with you.”

Shiro looks at him for a while. He looks the same, like the man Shiro spent his friday nights with, worked with. Fell in love with. But he’s not the same, is he? Too much has happened, too many complicated things that have put a distance between them. Perhaps Shiro isn’t the same, anymore, either.

“So why did you?” he hates that there’s resentment there, in his voice, even when it sounds so small. Keith’s face falls. He takes a slow step forward, closer.

“You know why.” he says, like it’s obvious. And somewhere, Shiro knows it is. He sees it in how Keith wants to get close, to touch, connect. But he also sees how Keith always stops himself. How he’s the one keeping the distance, secrets and heart always out of Shiro’s reach.

“Do I?” he pushes. Something is breaking in him, because despite what Keith has done, it wasn’t he who brought him here.

Keith’s mouth falls open, just the tiniest bit. In surprise, or with words he can’t grasp. He looks sad, suddenly. Shiro steels himself when a warm set of knuckles brush his cheek, keeps himself from melting into the touch just because of how much he’s missed it.

Keith closes the distance, latching onto Shiro’s face with both hands and forcing his neck to bend to their will. His forehead is hot and damp when it bumps against Shiro’s own and stays there. For a moment, Shiro allows himself to let it happen, to breathe him in and know that Keith is doing just the same thing.

The kiss, when it comes, shatters the earth. In reality, it’s soft, and chaste. A few seconds of contact. But it’s so much, too much to comprehend. Something Shiro has missed, and thought he’d never have again. A thunderstorm of words that Keith can’t find and say. A much needed balm to the ache in Shiro’s touch starved body. An affectionate action he’s not sure if he wants to want right now.

He’s lightheaded with it, when it ends. At some point, his hands have found their way to curl around Keith’s wrists. He can feel his pulse, his soft skin.

In the distance, a ticking clock counts down to when the moment will end, and Shiro doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready.

“I had to see you.” Keith whispers against his skin, and Shiro can see the moment start to break behind his closed eyelids. Just like that. “I missed you.”

“You could have told me what was going on.” Shiro counters, and Keith flinches. When he opens his eyes, Keith is staring at him, leaning back to regain some of that distance.

“No, I couldn’t.” Keith says, like what Shiro just said makes no sense. “I had to keep you safe!”

Shiro releases Keith’s wrists, he too creating some distance. In response, there’s something like betrayal in Keith’s expression. It makes anger flare up in Shiro. Keith is not the one dealing with betrayal, here.

“I don’t need to be safe!” He’s raised his voice, pouring his frustration into his words. “What I need is to be included, Keith. Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”

Keith shrinks before him. Or perhaps it’s Shiro who grows, letting all this pent up anger inflate him now that the pressure has been released. It doesn’t really matter.

“I lost the two most important people in my life.” his words bounce off the naked concrete walls, amplifying them. For so long, he’s denied himself this feeling. This resentment, and anger, now that they’re here it builds and builds, so fast he’s lost to it. “And then, after months of grasping for straws, just trying to keep myself together, it turns out the people who were supposed to help me find answers are the ones putting up smoke screens.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Keith yells back at him, wide eyed and in pain. It only makes Shiro more torn, more angry. “You don’t think I would have taken you with me if I could? Do you think it didn’t fucking break me to have to stay away from you?”

“You could have told me the truth!”

“No I couldn’t!” Keith is screaming, fresh tears shining at the corners of his eyes. “Shiro, I-“

He interrupts himself, heaves a frustrated sigh. Shiro is ready to counter whatever the hell he says next, nearly bursting with months worth of need for confrontation.

But Keith doesn’t speak. Instead he shoves at Shiro, getting him out of the way. He disappears out the door, and the anticlimax of it all causes Shiro’s mind to spin.

He stands there for minutes, staring at the empty space where Keith stood and trying to get a hold of his emotions. He’s trembling, for all kinds of reasons. His eyes sting with angry tears he didn’t even notice until now. His lips still tingle from the kiss.

He realizes that despite everything, he feels just as far away from Keith as he has been for months.

—-

  
  


When Shiro gets back to the room where the others are waiting, Keith is there. He’s sitting next to Kolivan, staring into his coffee mug. He doesn’t look up when Shiro enters.

The others are nice enough not to mention the tension between them, even if Keith’s mother does give him a look he can’t quite translate. At Kolivan’s instruction, Shiro takes a seat at the table. 

Across from him, Ulaz offers him a small smile. Shiro is angry with him, too, but he can’t deny how good it feels to be in the same room again. To know they’re on the same side.

“First of all,” Kolivan says, the authority in his tone calling everyone to attention. He’s speaking directly to Shiro, and if all eyes weren’t on him before, they sure are now. “we’d like to hear how much you’ve uncovered so far.”

Shiro considers his options. He knows there’s a good chance, if he tells them everything, that they’ll take his intel just to leave him out of what’s to follow. So far they haven’t seemed keen on letting him take part, and he’s not going to risk it.

He ends up telling them bits and pieces. That he’s realized they’re coming after Zarkon and presumably his son. That he’s understood Alfor Altea knew something he wasn’t supposed to, and that it got him killed in the end. He tells them about Matt and Pidge helping him find out more about people of interest. He mentions Ryner Olkari.

But he keeps to himself his work with Griffin, about him knowing Olkari’s assistant. He doesn’t tell them he knows about the tracking system, either.

He tells them his theory of how Zarkon has built a network within the system, based on blackmail and threats. That he suspects the ex senator has used it to get and maintain his and his sons positions, as well as to get away with illegal business within the companies he owns.

Once he’s finished, Kolivan is nodding, seemingly satisfied with what’s been shared.

“You are right about a lot of things.” He says to Shiro. “Zarkon has been wielding a significant amount of power under the table for many years. He’s been using that power to push his son uphill for a long time, and now to run his campaign for presidency.”

“What is stopping you from going after him?” Shiro asks, looking through one of many binders that Keith’s mother had layer out on the table while he told his side of things. “In twenty years, you must have gathered enough evidence to take him to court.” 

“It’s not that simple.” The woman says. “Zarkon’s web has threads attached everywhere. If we’re to bring it all down, it needs to be a slam dunk. Which means we need to know who he controls and how, and we need to be able to protect those we can convince to testify against him. If we can’t secure what Zarkon and his goons has on them, we can never win.”

Shiro doesn’t say anything to that. He looks down at the printed snapshot of a federal judge in a hotel room, the head of a woman who is definitely not her wife caught between her legs. Shiro understands the importance of not taking any risks, if this is how Zarkon keeps people on his leash.

“So what are you planning to do?” 

Everyone turns to Kolivan for the answer, and he sighs.

“For now, we’re still gathering intel. Mapping out Zarkon’s influence and covering our tracks. Your involvement called unwanted attention to our movement, Shiro.” Kolivan looks at him, not exactly with judgement but it’s definitely something along those lines. Anger flashes in Shiro again, but he remains quiet for now. “You went above my head when you demanded to take the lead on Keith and Allura’s disappearance. It complicated things, and has to be straightened out before Zarkon’s eyes and ears within the bureau catch on.”

It’s true that Shiro took his business straight to the assistant director of the FBI when his friends disappeared. He figured back then, that Kolivan would deny him the case simply for being too close to the missing agents. Little did he know, there was so much more to it than that.

“Truthfully, very little went according to plan around that time. It pushed us back much further than we would have liked, and we’re still dealing with the consequences.” He raises a hand to stop Shiro, who has readied himself to speak. “But to answer your question, the basis of our mission is to bring an end to Zarkon and his influence on our country. Preferably, before the election. If Lotor becomes president, there’s no knowing what he and his father will be capable of.”

\---

  
  


The meeting continues for another hour, mostly consisting of Shiro going over the content of the binders and asking questions. He’s buying himself some time, to figure out where this leaves him. Being brought here, and getting to look into what they’ve got so far, are both good signs. But he’s smart enough to have read between the lines of what’s been said in the past fifty minutes.

He’s pretty sure, they’re set on making him disappear from the public eye.

For his own protection, sure. But he has too many balls in the air outside of their organisation to allow himself to be kept here. It’s just not happening.

He’s in the middle of getting more information on Galra Tech and their board of directors from Keith’s mother - Krolia - when the pad in front of her chimes. She interrupts herself, only long enough to glance at it, and slides it across the table to Keith. She nods at him to take it, already back to talking. Keith grabs the pad and disappears out the door Shiro and Kolivan had come through earlier.

Shiro watches him go. Keith has remained quiet for the entirety of the meeting, arms crossed and looking everywhere but at Shiro. It stings, even if he knows he was the one to throw the first punch. It’s a complicated kind of pain, being angry with someone you love.

Because fuck it all, he does. He loves him, there’s no denying that. He doesn’t want to. Wouldn’t trade the way his heart clenches when he looks at Keith for anything.

But for now, that fact just makes it harder. 

Krolia’s words fly above his head, and he tries to bring himself back to focus, but it’s difficult. He stares down at the papers in front of him, at the nameless faces of men in suits. 

He’s still doing so when Krolia pauses, and the heavy door scrapes against the floor as it opens again. Shiro snaps his head up to see if it’s Keith who has returned, because for once his silly mind would just like to see the man enter a room Shiro is occupying instead of exiting. 

And it is Keith at the door. It is. But he’s not alone back, but accompanied by two women. One of them, Shiro recognizes as the doctor, Romelle. She’s standing next to Keith, peering at Shiro with curious eyes. She looks a lot like she did in the few photos the Holt’s dug up from her younger days, a beautiful woman with blonde braids reaching all the way past her hips.

Shiro doesn’t register much of that. At the back of his mind, a blurry image of a woman with short, dark hair reemerges. She’s coming up behind the other two, strong curls a dark, almost purple gray. It frames a face with strong features, dark skin and eyes like something straight out of a fantasy novel.

He can’t feel his body anymore, can’t feel his heart beating so hard it threatens to break out of his chest. All sound seems to disappear, every thing is a meaningless blur but the woman pushing past the others to meet him halfway.

The moment slender arms wrap around his shoulders and the warm smell of her hits his nose, sound and color comes bursting back with such force, he falls to his knees. The first sob tears out of him and it’s painful, but it doesn’t matter.

Allura clings to him, crushes him against her. She’s trembling, much like he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i couldnt kill allura if i tried that queen is resilient


	8. Melancholy weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added tags in end notes!

Shiro first met Allura when he was twenty two, in Afghanistan. She was a field medic at the time, twenty years old and so determined. He was a helicopter pilot, and picked up Allura with three wounded. Her mission was to keep her comrades alive all the way to the field hospital, and Shiro’s was to get them there.

He remembers her screaming at him to turn the lights on, frustrated because she couldn’t see from where the bleeding originated on one of her patients. It’s his first memory of her, the two of them screaming back and forth when he refused to turn the lights on in order not to give away their position, and her taking the helplessness she felt out at the stranger piloting the helicopter. All the way to where he sat, he could smell blood and dirt, burnt flesh.

Years later, they served as rangers together. When they met for the second time, Shiro didn’t recognize her. Not until one day when she lost her temper, and the sound of her raised voice brought him back to a pitch black night outside of Kabul. He brought it up later, and she admitted to never have registered his face back then. She too only remembered the situation, the things she felt and heard and smelled, but not the pilots. Anyone who wasn’t one of the men on that filthy helicopter floor, squirming and bleeding, had been nothing but background figures.

They became close, after that.

She was with him, one week before Christmas in 2003, leading a convoy towards a small town in western Iraq. It was supposed to be a one day thing. They had finished a task force assignment the day before, and were to accompany a convoy of food and medical supplies to later continue on back to base. 

They had been four hours out when they were attacked, and after the moment Shiro left his vehicle to peruse the shooters on foot together with a couple of others, he doesn’t remember much. It was one of those freak accidents, a series of shots aimed at one of their moving vehicles dislodging the exterior of the truck’s door and sending it flying. He never saw it coming, the banged up piece of metal that sliced his right arm almost completely off at the bicep.

He’d woken up days later in the hospital, with one missing limb and an honorable discharge in its place.

In the heat of the moment, Allura had been the one to make the impossible decision to amputate his arm right then and there. It had saved his life.

Once Shiro returned home, it was once again Allura that saved him. He didn’t have any family left around, and honestly, at that point Allura was his only close friend. It shouldn’t be possible to find California cold and empty, but back then he did. So when Allura called and told him to go see a robotics engineer she knew back in DC, Shiro went with it.

Which is how he met Sam Holt, and became the first person to ever receive a prosthetic advanced enough to allow him to pursue a physically challenging job if he would decide he wanted to do so. It’s also how he, by extension, met the Holt siblings and Hunk.

—-

  
  
  


“I think some explaining is in order.” Allura says, squeezing Shiro’s hand. 

He’s back at the table, this time with Allura next to him. He’s still dizzy, partially convinced someone knocked him over the head again and that he’s actually dreaming. He sits still, hardly breathing irrationally afraid the littlest thing might make her disappear again.

Maybe he should’ve at least suspected she might be alive. They never did find a body. It just seemed impossible at the time, that she would leave her family behind, for anything.

He’s been wrong a lot, lately.

“As you know, my father contacted me after he woke up three months ago.” Allura starts, holding Shiro’s gaze. Around the table, everyone have stopped to listen - even if he’s probably the only one new to the story. “It was like speaking to a ghost. If the call had not begun with a question from the prison of whether or not I wanted to take the call, I don’t know how I would have reacted. It was so strange, hearing his voice.”

A small smile takes shape at the edge of her mouth, and for a moment she goes distant, revisiting the memory. “I didn’t know what to think. But he told me there was something very important he needed to share with me. He said I shouldn’t tell anyone. It didn’t work out so well.” She tilts her head in Keith’s direction. “Keith was in the car with me when I took the call, he overheard everything.”

“When I went to see him, father told me he never killed anyone. That he was framed, and then expected to die in prison. He told me I had to see Kolivan, and demand more information. I later learned that Romelle here-“ she gestures to the doctor sitting next to Keith, who offers a friendly smile and a little wave. “Had been very quick to fill father in on current events. This is how he knew Kolivan to be the best person for me to contact.”

“Keith and I spent the next few days putting two and two together. We drew the connection between Zarkon and both our families. We didn’t want to confront Kolivan before we had something to go on. It was… intense, and I’m sorry it meant for Keith putting distance between the two of you. Neither of us wanted to get you involved, before we knew more.”

Shiro swallows the lump forming in his throat. He’s sorry, too.

“We were supposed to meet with Kolivan at the abandoned house to talk, but we were intercepted.” Allura retreats the hand she had rested on top of Shiro’s on the table, and reaches to pull her shirt up enough to reveal the scar tissue there. “Two men in masks entered the house after us. There was a struggle, and I was hurt. If it wasn’t for Romelle, I would have been dead, surely.”

She tugs her shirt back down, and Shiro finds himself staring at the spot long after the healed gunshot is out of view. The reason she had been presumed dead was that with the amount of blood found at the scene, she would have needed immediate medical attention to survive. There were no records of her coming in to any emergency room, and so there was nothing to suggest she had received any such care. 

“Some hasty decisions had to be made, then.” Allura continues. “I had to disappear, they had to think I was dead, or me and my family would be put at more risk. Keith was also too involved to stay under the radar. And so we decided to frame him for my death. We had a whole bunch of evidence to plant, a body even.”

Shiro flinches.  _ What _ ?

“Agent Thace was supposed to be assigned to the case, and a badly burnt body would turn up and be recorded as mine. Evidence would show that Keith was the one to kill me, which would explain why he was missing. It was supposed to be passed off as something unrelated to Zarkon, and throw them off our trail. But then,” she smiles, shakes her head. “then you demanded to be put on the case. Our entire plan was useless, because you would never let a false identification of a body or planted evidence slip by you. All we could do was wait.”

There’s a long pause where Shiro tries to digest the fuckload of new information, staring down at the table top without really seeing anything. If he had passed up the case, would he ever have seen Keith or Allura again? Would the case just have been buried, with Keith’s face on the FBI most wanted list until the organization found a way to bring Zarkon down?

He has so many thoughts, and so many questions. But in the end, all that comes out is; “Where did you get a body?”

Allura looks a little taken aback, and at the other end of the table, Romelle snickers. “Oh it- wo bought it. From a very, very shady caretaker at a funeral home. Somewhere, a woman has the ashes she believes are her daughters sitting in an urn.” She throws the amused doctor a reprimanding look. “It’s terrible, but we didn’t see any other way!” 

—-

  
  


Shiro’s suspicions regarding these people’s plan to make him stay on the premises are confirmed a little while later, when Kolivan won’t excuse him to the bathroom without first demanding he hands over his phone.

“Have at it.” He says, with annoyance. “But you won’t keep me here, I can tell you that.”

There’s a murmur breaking out in the room the second the door closes behind him, and he shakes his head. They can’t be stupid enough to think he won’t be able to leave if he wants to, they’ll have to let him do as he pleases.

He’s well aware of his own abilities. So are they.

Locked away in the restroom, he starts up his burner. It instantly floods with messages from Matt, asking what the fuck it going on.

**From: Matt Holt (ICE 2), 7:32**

where the hell are u going

**From: Matt Holt (ICE 2), 7:40**

holy shit are you in th car with keith rn ??

**From: Matt Holt (ICE 2), 7:43**

where is he taking u

**From: Matt Holt (ICE 2), 8:19**

do u need help?!

**From: Matt Holt (ICE 2), 9:02**

turn on this damn phone man istg 

**From: Matt Holt (ICE 2), 9:46**

i got your location, one peep and im coming to get u

**From: Matt Holt (ICE 2), 9:47**

i have a gun

**From: Matt Holt (ICE 2), 10:29**

S H I R O

He considers texting Matt the whole story, tell him all he’s found out. But honestly, he wouldn’t know where to start.

**From: Me, 10:45**

I’m OK. Will be home soon.

**From: Matt Holt (ICE 2), 10:45**

if u put me thru this again splinter is dead u hear me

**From: Matt Holt (ICE 2), 10:46**

ill meet u at ur place

**From: Me, 10:46**

👍

—-

  
  


It’s just before midnight when the car stops near a subway station five blocks from his apartment. The ride has been awkward, at best, and Shiro is just glad it’s over.

In the driver's seat, Ulaz is looking out at the late night strollers scurrying away from the rain.

The whole ride, the air has been thick with whatever it is Ulaz wants to say. He’s not big on feelings, and it annoys Shiro now how he’s still so much in tune with the man who’s been his partner. How he’s able to have this wordless conversation if he just lets himself.

Mostly, what annoys him is how he has to restrain himself from doing so, how he already knows what Ulaz needs to talk about. It would be so easy to open his mouth, say; I’m still angry, but we’ll be okay.

But he’s allowing himself some pettiness. 

Minutes tick by after the car has stopped, before Ulaz finally clears his throat. Shiro looks over at him, but his partner is keeping his eyes on the hood of the car, watching drops of water splatter against the shiny surface.

“I never meant to exclude you.” He says, with an uncomfortable tightness in his voice. “I wish I could have told you the truth much earlier, but keeping our circle unseen is key. You’re an honest man, Shiro. It would have been a risk to us just as much as a burden for you to work outside of the law as we do.”

Shiro sighs. It all makes sense, really, he understands. But that doesn’t mean the people closest to him didn’t watch him flounder and twist out of shape, and did nothing, for three months. It changes things between people, even if the cause was rational.

He doesn’t know how to respond with honesty. Not actually sure what that would mean, right now. Instead, he exits the car without a word, and doesn’t look back.

When he gets home, Matt is already there. The entire apartment smells like Chinese takeout, and it reminds him of how his stomach feels like a black hole once again.

Retelling the night over fried rice, Shiro keeps some things to himself. It’s hard to keep himself from spilling the beans about Allura, but he knows she’s safer the less people know about her for now. He doesn’t really feel like talking about Keith, either, but Matt pokes and prods at him until he gives in.

He tells him about the kiss, to which Matt perks up in his seat. Shiro shuts him down before he can even start. “And then we fought. I pushed him away, I guess. We didn’t speak after that.”

Matt blinks at him like he’s the stupidest person alive.

“What the hell, Shiro.” He groans, setting down his chopsticks. “Why are you so stubborn?”

It’s not often that Matt uses this voice on him, like a reprimanding older sibling.

“It sucks what you’ve been through, okay? But it’s not his fault. Sounds to me he’s done what he could to keep you as much in the loop as possible without risking your safety. You can’t ask more than that from him.”

Shiro pokes around in his food container, processing. He knows that’s true. He does. It’s just not that easy. 

None of this is easy.

—-

  
  


Not even his meds can keep the dreams at bay that night. It’s a circling pattern, scenario after scenario revolving around the same theme. By the time he wakes, the lot of them slip from his grasp. All but the last one, where he was in a car headed down an endless, empty road. He wasn’t driving. No one was. The driver's seat was empty, and he was in the backseat tied down by a seatbelt without a buckle. The car was moving fast, but he had no idea where to.

Every now and again, a figure would appear in the passenger's seat. A red leather jacket, black hair. The image of Keith would glitch and blur, and whenever Shiro reached out to touch him, he’d disappear. In the few moments where he appeared somewhat clearly, Shiro saw his head tilt back in laughter once, swaying to a non-existent tune in another.

Then the sound of a little girl screaming for her mother hit his ears like the voice originated from inside his head. But Juni didn’t appear in the car. She came out of nowhere, crossing the road ahead of them, and stopping right in the middle of their lane.

She looked at him and Shiro knew she was angry with him. The car raced forward and she didn’t move, didn’t get out of the way and he started screaming, tearing at the seatbelt but getting nowhere. 

She was right there, mere feet away and he couldn't even hear himself scream anymore, when he startled awake with a yell.

He counts to ten. Breathes, in, out. The sweat on his temples cools, the images fading a little more with every long breath. Next to him, the clock reads 7:02. 

There’s really no point trying to get back to sleep. 

The streets are still wet from rain, but the morning sky has cleared up when he gets outside. It’s starting to get more chilly in the mornings now. He likes it that way. On the days he doesn’t really want to run, the chill motivates him well. Makes him get moving, get his blood pumping and sweat the remnants of the night out.

It’s the first time he’s exercising in days, and he feels it. He’s stiff, a little clumsy. His body is protesting against the abuse it’s been through in the past week, and he’s still got sleep meds in his system.

He doesn’t make it far, before he needs a break.

In the park two blocks away from his house, he collapses on the grass. It’s wet and cold, but he doesn’t care. For a while he lays there, looking at the sky where the sun is rising fast, listening to the awakening city.

The next twenty four hours drag by far too slowly. In the afternoon, Griffin contacts him. He’s managed to lure Ryner Olkari and her assistant Nadia Rizavi into an early breakfast meeting Wednesday morning.

In the meantime, Shiro learns all there is left to learn about Lotor Sincline and his father according to google.

Kolivan and the others doesn’t know he’s got a foot in with Ryner, and for now he’s glad to have kept that one to himself. According to James’s friend, Kolivan himself has tried to make contact with the candidate but failed in his attempts. This for the same reason she wouldn’t press charges after the car crash. She doesn’t want to put herself or the people around her at risk.

Which is also why when Shiro steps over her threshold at six thirty in the morning, she nearly throws him right back out where he came from.

“I agreed to meet with your boyfriend for breakfast.” The woman scolds her assistant. “Not his friends from the bureau.”

“Ms Olkari if you would-“ James starts, but the young woman next to him shushes him. Shiro remains under the entry arch to the dining room where they’re gathered, waiting.

“Ry, I really think you should hear them out, okay?” Rizavi says to her boss. “This thing they’re working on, it might save us. You can’t tell me you’re not afraid they’ll come for us again before the election. Or if we win? You know that won’t leave us alone.”

Olkari closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Then she raises her hand, and gestures for Shiro to come closer. He takes a seat a few chairs away from the others, in an attempt to somehow keep the distance the woman still seems to wish for.

“Thank you.” Shiro says, and searches out Rizavi’s gaze to get his words across, when the presidential candidate still won’t look at him. “As I have come to understand, you’ve been under threat by Lotor Sincline?”

The assistant makes a face he can’t quite interpret. She looks over at Ryner, and they seem to have a non verbal conversation. Shiro waits patiently, until Nadia turns back to him.

He’ll admit, he doesn’t expect the thing she says next.

“Actually, I think Lotor has very little to do with the threats.”

—-

  
  


“What do you mean?” Shiro leans over the table, closer. 

Rizavi looks a little uncomfortable, silently weighing her options. Next to her, Griffin puts an encouraging hand on her shoulder. She shrugs him off.

“Okay so!” She jumpstarts herself, her voice up a pitch and a little too loud for the atmosphere of the room. “This past year, we’ve been in the vicinity of other candidates a lot. Like, a lot. And honestly, Sincline doesn’t seem so bad. He’s actually kinda nice, and after the car accident he’s been giving off more ‘sorry that happened to you’ vibes than it tried to kill you’ vibes, you know?”

Shiro doesn’t know. 

He motions for her to continue, and she seems in doubt again for a while. He gives her time. His patience is being tested too much lately and he doesn’t know how long he’ll hold up, but he gives her time.

Eventually,

“I don’t know if it’s smart to tell you. Or if it’s safe. This guy obviously trusts you,” she nudges James with an elbow. “but we’ve never met you before. You understand, if we’re a little cautious, yeah?”

Shiro nods. “I do. You’re completely right to be cautious, but I promise you, we want the same thing here. For everyone to be safe, and a corrupt operation to be taken down for good.” He pins the two women with a gaze he hopes comes off as determined but well meaning. The last thing he wants now is to spook them further. “You need to tell me what you know, or things will only get worse. I think you both know that.”

A few moments pass, and Rizavi turns to look at her boss again. The older woman nods, stiff and reluctant, but still.

“A few times when we’ve been at the same venue,” she starts again. “we’ve been approached in places like the ladies bathroom or elevators by people working Sincline’s campaign. There’s a few of them, women. Most of them have said vaguely threatening stuff, just come around to act scary and throw us off our game.”

“But?” Shiro urges.

“There’s one of them who’s different.” Nadia looks like a kid ratting out their friend for killing the class pet goldfish. “She’ll say stuff like ‘I read somewhere bottled water causes cancer’, and we thought it was super weird at first but then… we realized she’s helping us. When she said the thing about the water, some guy handed out bottled water before the debate and it turned out to be spiked with rohypnol. It was just lucky we carry sustainable reusable bottles for the team as an unofficial part of our green initiative, Ry didn’t take one.”

“How did you find out the water had been tampered with?” James pipes up, and it’s a good question.

“One of our team members thought it was a strange coincidence and thought she saw the woman give her a look across the room, so she brought the bottle meant for Ryner with her and had it tested.” Rizavi explains. “She’s, like, crazy observant.”

“And this woman who warned you about the water,” Shiro forces down his urge to stand, to pace around the room and get the tingle in his bones to subside. “she’s warned you about other things?”

Both women shake their heads, and finally it’s Olkari’s turn to speak up. “That was the only time her words seemed to hold that kind of significance. But she is always non aggressive, non threatening, unlike the others. Even though, as far as we can tell, she is the one closest to Lotor Sincline. Over time, we have come to think of them both as less motivated to use illegal measures than the rest of their campaign folk.”

“Lotor might be the one running for president,” Nadia continues. “but to anyone who’s spent enough time around them, it’s obvious he’s not the one running things. His father is.”

Shiro takes a moment to process. If what he’s just heard is true, not only do they have a shot at getting someone on Sincline’s team to cooperate, but the candidate himself may actually have doubts about his father’s way of handling things.

His heart is beating loud in his ears again.

“Who is this woman?” He asks, and Olkari and Rizavi share another look. Then, Olkari turns back to him, tilts her chin up.

“Her name, is Axca.”

\---

  
  
  


The meeting goes south quickly after that.

Following her reveal of the helping opponents name, Olkari refuses to be of any more help. She claims she only said this much because these were things Shiro could have found out other ways regardless, but that she won’t take part in any action to try and contact this Axca or in any way jeopardize the safety of her own team nor the woman in question.

Perhaps the sudden shut-down makes Shiro lose his patience, raise his voice. Which is enough to cut the meeting short, and to send him out with a firm dismissal.

His head is absolutely reeling when he exits the building, and he has to lean back against the wall, throng his thoughts together.

He realizes that what he’s found here is the opportunity for the slam dunk Krolia talked about. If Lotor himself has doubts, if he can be persuaded to turn on his old man, everything could be over. Or maybe it would even be enough to talk this Axca into handing over what she knows, maybe she’s sitting on everything they need.

It’d be naive to think they’ll come easy. Zarkon’s network is vast and dangerous, to cross him would mean putting yourself at great risk, which most people are not all that willing to do if given the choice. 

He needs to see this woman. And he needs to convince her, somehow, that surrendering is her best option. Her only option.

Suddenly, the end feels too close, touchable for the first time since this whole mess began. It burns in him. If he can make this happen, he can bring Allura home. Keith’s mother can come out of hiding after more than  _ two decades _ . And Keith- 

Shiro pushes off the wall, determination burning red hot.

He’ll do what he has to. Whatever that might mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Iraq och Afghanistan wars, loss of limb, warfare  
> \---
> 
> idfk how james became such a vital character he wasnt even supposed to be in this fic


	9. Instrument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now there's sex to make up for all the suffering
> 
> thanks to A, the ultimate fic-anxiety-bro, for making sure i write porn. you're the nave to my wheel, the nut to my cracker. love you bro

Griffin comes to find him a couple of hours later. By then, he’s in the middle of looking into Lotor’s schedule for the next few days. What he’s found online is, understandably, inconclusive. He’s waiting for Matt to get back to him, to see if he’s had more luck in mapping out the candidate’s location plans, when he finds the young agent back at his door.

“Nadia and I talked.” He blurts out the second Shiro lays eyes on him. He pushes past him and into the apartment, more ballsy than Shiro has ever seen him. He’s not sure what to expect from that. “She doesn’t care what Olkari says, she-  _ we _ want to help.”

Shiro crosses his arms, looking the guy up and down. He’s proven dedicated, and brave, even if he’s been a little twitchy. And he’s becoming more secure, he doesn’t seem scared anymore. He’s probably the best ally Shiro has, if he’s being honest with himself.

“Alright.” He says, and returns to the living room with James on his heel. “Do the two of you have any ideas?”

He checks his phone again, but there’s still no update from Matt. It’s frustrating, to be stuck here waiting.

“If you agree, we’d like to approach Axca.” Griffin says. “We’re pretty sure even if she isn’t willing to help, at least she won’t rat us out for trying.”

“Pretty sure?” 

He sounds meaner than he needs to. It’s exactly what he planned to do himself, really, but he’s always been like this. If it’s someone else putting themselves at risk, the danger seems more apparent. And he can’t deny how it prickles in him, knowing he’ll be sending James and Nadia, thus putting himself up for more restless waiting.

Griffin doesn’t seem phased by his tone, though.

“It’s the best we’ve got, isn’t it?” He counters. “We realize it’s risky, but if you don’t have a better idea, we would like to get to it.”

Shiro looks over at the younger man, at his squared shoulders, his stiff upper lip. He’s so young. And Rizavi is not even an agent.

But Griffin is right, no matter how Shiro might twist and turn it.

“How are you planning to reach her?” He settles on asking, eyes once more dropping to the screen on his burner cell, waiting for the three moving dots to tell him Matt has something to share.

“We can get her a message easily. We’ll wait for her, and if she shows up, we ask for her help.” James tries to make it sound breezy, even if they both know it’s never that simple. But they don’t need to share the details of how delicate the situation would be, it’s written between the lines, adding weight to James’s words. “Lotor has a speech scheduled in Baltimore at two. Most of the opponents have representatives on site and Nadia already made sure she gets to go. If we leave soon-“

“Do it.” Shiro interrupts. Clearly, Rizavi already has the advantages Shiro does not when it comes to tailing politicians. “I’ll be close by if you need me. If everything goes well, we’ll meet back here.”

—-

  
  


Waiting is agonizing. He’s in a rental car parked just down the street from the venue in Baltimore, watching the live stream of the speech on his phone. It’s a good speech, and Shiro sees why this man has gained such popularity. Except for being young and remarkably handsome, he’s a well versed speaker, engaging and rarely as dull as most politicians tend to be. 

But then again, so was Hitler.

Shiro isn’t very engrossed in the words coming out of his crappy phone speaker anyway, though. Instead he’s trying to focus on whenever the cameras flick over from Sincline to the people around him, to the press, the audience. In a few minutes, there will be a short break before it’s time for the presidential candidate to answer some questions asked by the public.

To give Axca, currently seated with three other women at the side of the stage, some time and options to act, she’s been slipped the message to meet a few minutes ago. If she decides to go for it, she can either dart off during the break, or during the Q&A, depending on what she thinks is safest.

It’s a smart plan. Shiro wouldn’t have thought of it.

He’s spotted Rizavi on camera once or twice so far, standing far back and not calling any attention to herself. Griffin is nowhere to be found, just as planned. He’s been at the venue for hours, snooping his way to the best possible place to meet with Axca without being seen. In the end, they decided on the printer room on the third floor. The event is on the second floor, and the bathrooms and reception down on first. If Axca enters an elevator alone, there’s next to no chance for anyone to notice her going up instead of down. Most people working on the third floor are at the event, and the corridor is mostly deserted for now. 

Shiro just wishes he could be there in person to make sure things go smoothly, that the contact is handled properly and the right questions get asked if the woman shows up. But the off chance of someone seeing and recognizing him is too much of a risk to take when they don’t need to.

Still, he itches to do something. To take charge.

Finally, the break comes on, and luckily the cameras don’t stop broadcasting in the meantime. Instead, they dart around the room, catching glimpses scribbling pens and small talk. Lotor gravitates to his team, where someone offers him water and straightens his tie. He speaks to Axca, an attractive young woman in dark dress pants and a silk shirt, dark hair tied back, flat shoes. She has a standoffish coldness to her, a serious set to her brow.

She reminds Shiro of Keith, when they first met.

It’s a train of thought he doesn’t want to jump on, but alone in a silent car without a thing to truly distract him, it’s hard not to get dragged along. He wonders what Keith is doing, if he’s working and with what. If he’s still hurt and angry, like he was when Shiro left him at the headquarters.

It’d been easier than he thought to get them out of trying to make him stay. The only ones protesting to the end had been those in the room who don’t know him, and he figures that’s because everybody else knew it would be more trouble than it’s worth.

Not that there wasn’t any attempt to persuade him. Kolivan had made it very clear they can’t protect him if he remains in the public eye, and honestly he had at least thought about it for a minute. If he stayed, maybe he could help. But in the end he didn’t believe they’d let him. Despite being dragged so far into things and being expected to share all he knows, it’s still obvious the organization isn’t quite willing to let him in.

Which is probably also because most of them know him too well. 

He can’t imagine Keith or Allura are happy with their way of handling things either, and with Shiro in the mix they might get thrown over. Pushed out of the dark and into action.

He’s sure he made the right choice to leave. In the matter of days, he’s already closer to a way into Lotor’s - and by extension Zarkon’s - close ranks than Kolivan and his people seem to have gotten in all these years.

After all this time, perhaps they’re much too used to hiding. The bravery that lead them to each other in the first place is dormant, rusted into place after such a long time waiting.

—-

  
  


Lotor keeps Axca occupied throughout the break, the two of them reading through some documents that are probably the questions given to them beforehand. From the little snippets Shiro gets, he can tell the guy trusts her more than the others. While the rest of his team makes sure he has what he needs, he never spares them much more than short glances. He doesn’t recognize their presence the way he does with Axca, and that is a major tell.

It’s times more interesting than if their possible contact was just one in a long line of druids.

But it also makes things inconvenient. As close to the man himself, Axca has more eyes on her than anyone else on staff. Getting her alone won’t be easy in the future, even if they do pull things off today.

By the time Lotor reclaims the podium, Shiro is tapping his foot, thumbnail caught between his teeth. The Q&A is scheduled to be thirty minutes or so, but if the woman is going to meet up with Rizavi and Griffin or not should show very soon.

He’s annoyed he can’t control the cameras and focus where he wants. It’s practically impossible to know what’s happening this way.

It’s getting harder by the second to sit still. Maybe he should at least move towards the building, be as close as possible should they need him?

He lets his nerves get the best of him, and he’s out of the car in a heartbeat. 

On the screen, the cameras have yet to show anything but Lotor and the people in the audience holding the mic to ask him a question. At least, he sees that Rizavi has moved from her spot, but he knew that much.

With his eyes on his phone, he starts walking down the sidewalk as slowly as he can convince his prickling feet to. He’s not more than a hundred feet away from the venue, when he moves to the side to let a panting jogger past him. She runs by, and the camera shifts on screen. But he still hears running, heavier steps, clunkier shoes. Axca’s seat is empty, but it’s not what sparks his adrenaline.

He swerves around, just as the person coming up behind him is within reach, and closes his metal hand around a wiry wrist.

Keith’s eyes are completely wild staring up at him, and he tugs where Shiro’s got a hold of him to move them back in the direction they came from.

“Are you a fucking moron?” He snarls, pulling Shiro with him. He scans their surroundings like an animal searching for predators. Figure of speech, he probably is doing just that.

Shiro lets himself be dragged back to the car, where Keith snatches the key and gets in after stuffing Shiro in the passenger seat. Seconds later, they’re pulling out on the street and Shiro finally starts to catch up.

“Do you have a death wish?” Keith scolds him, weaving through traffic just past the speed limit. He’s trembling, and Shiro doesn’t miss the little hitch in his voice. Keith isn’t angry. He’s scared.

Shiro looks at him for a while, but doesn’t answer. He’s pretty sure Keith doesn’t know about Griffin and what they’re up to. To him, it seems like Shiro has come to - in worst case - confront Sincline himself. Which, to be fair, he probably would have if things would have turned out different. Not here, like this, perhaps, but still.

“You put a tracker in my phone.” He says eventually. He knew that from the start, which is why he only brought the burner with him to Baltimore. However be he shouldn’t be surprised Keith managed to find him anyway.

“Of course we did. For exactly this type of fucking reason, Shiro.” Keith glances at him, glaring daggers. Then he shakes his head, turns back to the road.

“Thought you weren’t going to protect me.” Shiro says, and he can’t help the amusement in his voice. Matt was right about Keith. The man will go above and beyond for him, no matter what.

He’s known for a while. But it’s not until now, with Keith saving him from the danger he thinks he’s put himself in despite all that’s been said, that Shiro feels ready to accept it.

Keith pulls a grimace. “The tracker is not for protection.” He insists. “It’s a precaution, so we can stop you from blowing our cover.”

“Except,” Shiro lets the smile leak into his voice, and he sees too clearly how it registers in Keith. How his brain short circuits. “you’re protecting me.”

Wide eyed, Keith turns to look back at him, searching for something. Anything, to tell himself he’s imagining things, probably. Shiro can’t believe him, how he can be so perceptive and yet so unwilling to trust himself with the good things.

Guilt hits him like a fist to the face. He’s been so angry, so dimmed by betrayal he’s not even recognized just how happy he is to know that Keith is alright. That he’s exactly the guy Shiro thought he was, if not even better. Even braver, and even more selfless. And in response, Shiro pushed him away.

Deep down, he knows he had the right to be angry. But for now, all he wants is to take it all back.

Slowly, tentatively, Shiro moves his prosthetic hand to curl over Keith’s on the gear lever. Keith twitches, but when he looks at Shiro again, he’s smiling, too.

“Yeah.” He says. “Of course I am.”

—-

  
  


Shiro doesn’t have one single complaint when Keith takes them back to the headquarters. The drive from Baltimore to DC was far too short but took way too long, all at the same time. It’s been the most time he’s spent with Keith in months, and finally being able to see past what’s happened is a blessing. Still, Shiro doesn’t tell Keith about the real reason for him coming after Lotor today. He’s put the burner on silent, trusting his friends at the lab to inform Griffin of his whereabouts. Even if things go well, it’s likely Shiro won’t be there when Griffin knocks on his door.

He does feel a little guilty for not telling Keith the truth, especially when he starts lecturing him for not being more careful about going near Lotor when Zarkon’s people knows who he is and already suspects him of funny business.

“You’re not with the FBI anymore, they could so easily take you out and no one would ever know.” Keith scolds, giving it one more try before they get out of the car in the dark garage.

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?” Shiro teases, waiting as Keith makes his way around the car. He stops so close, he has to tilt his head back to look Shiro in the eye. The light is so low, Shiro can hardly make out Keith’s features. But he still feels it, the hot electricity in his gaze.

“No.” he mutters, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Shiro’s hair. “Because you’re not.”

“I’m really not.” Shiro agrees, and it’s so impossibly good to finally get his hands on Keith he might just burst. The fabric draped over Keith’s waist yields in his grip, slipping over the warm skin beneath and radiating so much warmth, Shiro swears he feels it in both his hands, seeping into him.

It’s too good, he can’t help himself. Keith yelps, but goes easily when Shiro reels him in, crushes him against him. He dips his head, and Keith gets on his tiptoes to meet him in a kiss that’s completely different from the few they’ve shared before. It’s powerful, scolding hot and so intense, Shiro’s dizzy in seconds. Heat and adrenaline shoots through him, and he’s sure Keith feels it too, with the way his breath catches in his throat.

He expects it to peak and fade, but it doesn’t. It just keeps getting better, more intense the more of Keith he’s able to process. The soft, warm wet of his mouth, moving against his own. The taste of him when the kiss deepens, the edge of a sharp canine on the tip of his tongue. The press of his body against him, the sting and scrape of blunt nails clawing their way from his hair to the back of his neck, clinging desperately.

The little drops of sound tumbling from Keith and into his open mouth with every shift of Shiro’s hands, every other slide of his tongue. Like he’s plucking at strings, having found a favorite instrument. He can’t wait to master it, to play Keith like he deserves.

It’s a kind of feeling Shiro hasn’t felt in a long time. And he’s positive it’s never been like this. He doesn’t want it to ever end.

Keith breathes into his mouth, gasps when Shiro lets his hands wander down his sides, thumbs tracing sharp hip bones just above the edge of Keith’s low riding jeans.

He stays there for a bit, just dipping the tips of his fingers in under the denim. Every time he presses into the hot skin there, Keith shifts, rolls his tongue in a way that sends Shiro to the next dimension and back.

It’s a close thing that he straight out moans, when Keith pulls away and Shiro’s disoriented eyes adjust enough to see even just a shadow of his face. The slick on his lips reflect the little light there is, open and panting. His eyes are hooded, and Shiro can imagine them pitch black and glossy.

He’s helpless to follow when Keith steps back, hands sliding down his arms to take his hands and pull. 

\---

  
  


Stepping into the lit hallway was a much different experience compared to last time. He had to stop for a few seconds, just to look at the man walking backwards in front of him. His flushed skin, the rumpled t-shirt. The red swell of his lips.

He was a vision.

He’s still a vision now, locked away in a makeshift bedroom and tearing at Shiro’s shirt with very little patience. The room, which has most likely been an office once, isn’t much to write home about. Faded green walls, fluorescent lights. A mattress with messy bedding on the floor, an old file cabinet with a black sock sticking out from a drawer. A sheet nailed over the glass window on the door.

It stings for a second, knowing this is how Keith has been living this entire summer.

But Keith doesn’t seem interested in giving a tour of his quarters, and Shiro doesn’t mind. Can’t really focus on anything but Keith’s fingers once they come in contact with his naked torso. Shiro watches him as he explores the exposed skin and muscle, tracing old scars, pressing down on the hard muscles of his abdomen. Keith’s bottom lip catches between his teeth, just for a moment, but the image is enough to burn into Shiro’s brain like a brand.

With the curl of a finger, he tilts Keith’s chin up. His eyes have gone from stormy to something reverent, but the heat remains. 

“Hey.” Shiro manages, a little lame. Keith cracks a smile.

“Hey.”

He’s so beautiful like this, open and wanting, it almost hurts to look at him directly. Almost. Shiro smiles back, droopy and sappy probably more than sexy, and tugs on the hem of Keith’s shirt. “Your turn.”

Keith huffs a little laugh. Then he takes a step back, out of Shiro’s reach, and sheds his shirt in one swift motion. Shiro makes a punched out sound. Compared to Shiro, Keith’s skin is mostly free from blemishes and scars. There’s one that he can see, a big slash on his shoulder. He can already see himself tracing it with his mouth, listening to Keith as he tells the story of how it got there.

He zones out long enough not to notice Keith’s movements until he’s already stepped out of his boots, toed off his socks. Shiro blinks once, twice. Stares as the man before him unzips his pants, nimble fingers tugging on the belt loops. Down, down.

It’s with a surprising amount of grace and confidence that Keith strips out of his pants, standing in front of Shiro in nothing but black boxer briefs. Shiro can’t stop looking at him. Shiro has always known Keith to be all sinewy muscle, slim but strong. But knowing and seeing are two very different things, and whatever images the less proud part of his brain may have conjured in the wee hours can never compare to reality. Keith’s body is toned and taut, perfect lines of muscle highlighting every single inch of creamy skin.

The jutting hip bones Shiro felt before shape the subtle v on his lower abdomen, drawing the path down and beyond the elastic band of Keith’s underwear. He doesn’t shy away when Shiro looks, when he notices him half hard.

Instead he reaches back, and gets a hold of the messy braid draped across his back. In the next moment, long, black locks cascade over and down his shoulders, framing his face. The longest strands reach just far enough down Keith’s chest they graze his nipples, and Shiro is so done for. He gapes, dumbstruck and completely, thoroughly awed.

He can’t believe this man is real.

But he is, and he’s smiling at Shiro like he knows exactly what’s happening in Shiro’s head just now. Like he’s perfectly aware of how torn Shiro is between standing here and just looking at Keith, and pinning him to the mattress to have his wicked way with him.

“Now you’re the one over-dressed.” Keith says, and it might just be the spiking hormones talking, but his voice is like crushed velvet in Shiro’s ears. Shiro twitches in his pants, surely further along than Keith is at this point.

Not trusting his voice, Shiro doesn’t even try to come up with a comeback. He just gets to work, years of military standard efficiency getting the job done in less than a minute.

But when he turns back to look at Keith again, he’s almost knocked off his feet. Apparently, looking away in order not to get distracted was an efficient, but not entirely great idea if his goal was not to miss anything. Because where Keith stood moments ago, there’s nothing but a pile of clothing left. Instead Shiro finds him sprawled across the sheets, completely naked and with a rosy flush coloring his cheeks.

Shiro makes a deep noise at the back of his throat, something rumbling, almost primal. It makes Keith squirm, looking up at him from the tangle of grey bed sheets with hooded eyes and pitch black curls spread like spilled ink around his head.

“C’mere.” Keith stretches his arms out toward Shiro, hands grabbing at air.

Shiro is out of his briefs and landing knees first on the mattress in a matter of seconds. Their movement is fluid, like they’ve been like this hundreds of times before. Keith spreads his legs to make space when Shiro joins him, arms coming up around his torso, hands splayed out and sliding over his back. Shiro boxes Keith in with his elbows bent on either side of his narrow shoulders. Their faces are just so close their noses touch.

The skin on skin is magical, bodies lining up like pieces of a puzzle. It’s a sizzling, overwhelming kind of closeness and pleasure and it has Shiro losing his damn mind already. Below him, Keith looks much the same as Shiro feels. A little dazed, but buzzing with anticipation and  _ need _ .

Shiro doesn’t waste any time, slotting his lips back in place with Keith’s as soon as he’s made sure he isn’t crushing him with his weight. He licks into Keith’s willing mouth, mapping out the shape of him. The image of Keith biting his lip earlier flashes past closed eyelids, and he doesn’t even think, just catches the swollen lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth.

Keith makes a tiny non-sound, a little catch of breath. Shiro sinks his teeth into the flesh, not too hard, just testing. The man under him cants his hips, up into where Shiro’s are flush against him. The movement has their cocks sliding together, just a brief moment of friction that has Shiro groaning into Keith’s mouth.

The kiss turns wetter and filthier, after that. Keith’s fingers drag and press on his back, his legs starting to twitch where they’re spread. It’s so, so good. But he only has so much willpower, and it’s clear that Keith too is reaching his limit.

He kisses him deep, just once more before pulling back with one closed lip peck on Keith’s gaping mouth. He takes a moment, then, to just look at him. Takes in his face, flushed and warm and ruined.

Then, without preamble, he rolls his hips into a grind.

It feels amazing. But it’s got nothing on the swell of pride and pleasure that bursts into life in him when Keith clings to him, a surprised  _ hah _ -sound slipping past his lips.

He does it again. And again. Every roll of his hips pulling something new from the man under him.

“Shi- unh,  _ fuck _ -” Keith tucks his face in the bend between Shiro’s neck and shoulder, panting against his skin. The slide of their cocks moving together is enough to have them both racing toward an early end, and Shiro knows he should stop if he wants it to last, but the way Keith moves against him is addicting. He’s not sure he could stop if he  _ tried _ .

But ultimately, Keith makes the decision. His voice is torn by ragged breath when he speaks into his temple, lips catching on strands of Shiro’s hair.

“God, Shiro-  _ stopstopstop _ -” the string of words ends more like a hiss than spoken words, but it’s enough to get the message across. Shiro comes to a halt almost instantly, detangling himself from Keith enough to see if he’s alright.

Keith huffs, falling back against the sheets. His eyes flutter closed, and it’s just impossible for Shiro to withstand the urge to lean down and plant light kisses on his eyelids. Keith snorts. “Give me a sec.”

“Anything.” Shiro whispers against Keith’s damp forehead, a goofy smile tugging on his lips again. And for a couple of moments, they just breathe each other in. 

Too aware of their dicks caught and leaking between them, but with the edge starting to come off, Shiro starts to leave a trail of lazy, open mouthed kisses down the long slope of Keith’s neck. Keith hums, threading fingers through Shiro’s hair. 

“You’re amazing.” Shiro mutters into his skin, continuing on his path toward sharp collarbones and shoulders. “Absolutely breathtaking, Keith.”

Keith doesn’t say anything in return, but pulls gently where he’s gripping Shiro’s hair, guiding him up and back to face him. Lean, strong legs wrap loosely around his waist, just tight enough to make a point of keeping him in place. It makes his hips kick, and Keith’s swollen mouth shapes into a small O at the friction.

Shiro feels like he could just watch him forever, pliant and responsive under him.

“I want you,” Keith breathes, holding Shiro’s gaze as it turns molten and squeezing him between his thighs. “to fuck me.”

Shiro makes an undignified, swooning noise. Keith laughs, and takes Shiro’s face between his palms. His smile is teasing and a little crooked, too sexy to be true. “Think you can do that, old timer?”

Shiro snorts, and shifts so he can poke the other man in the ribs. A playful fight ensues, where Keith somehow manages to roll them over while simultaneously fighting off Shiro’s wiggling fingers coming for his ticklish spots. It’s a show of strength that probably shouldn’t turn Shiro on as much as it does.

Keith frees himself from Shiro’s grasp long enough to retrieve lube and a condom from the cabinet. He tosses them next to Shiro on the mattress and returns to straddling his hips, giving one experimental grind. Shiro wheezes, wide eyed as he looks up at Keith. He looks otherworldly, with his hair falling in his face and stunning blue eyes causing bolts of lightning to shoot up Shiro’s spine.

With the backs of his fingers, Keith strokes the line of Shiro’s jaw. He leans into the touch. Keith’s other hand is trailing down his chest, brushing past a hardened nipple on its way down to his abs.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Keith practically whines, splaying his hand out on Shiro’s stomach. “It drives me nuts. You drive me nuts.”

Shiro smirks, gripping Keith’s legs by the knees. Flipping them over is easy, with Keith going willingly. He sits back this time, looks down at the man he’d set the world ablaze for. He may have looked like a king, when he was on top, but like this? All splayed out and arching his back, ready to be worshiped, he looks like a god.

It’s almost too much. He’s still got Keith’s legs in his hands, lax and heavy. Between them, Keith is still almost fully hard. It makes that pride burn a little hotter in him, knowing he can have this effect on him. To know Keith wants him that much.

“Come on, big guy.” Keith taunts, rolls his hips into nothing.

Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice. He drops one of Keith’s legs, and reaches for the lube. With his other hand, he lifts the slender leg still in his hold, hooking it over his shoulder. Keith makes a soft noise, his head pressing back into the bedding as he watches Shiro drip lubricant onto his flesh fingers.

It’s dizzying, electrifying, to watch Keith try to rut down on his finger the second Shiro rubs against his hole. To see the rise and fall of his chest as he slides in to the second knuckle with ease. To feel him, slick and wet, clamping down on him just to open up again.

He’s got him rolling his hips down to meet the slide in no time.

“Do this often?” he can’t help but ask, because Keith is taking it  _ so easily _ , but as the words leave his mouth the images come swarming into his head. His cock pulses between his legs, sizzling oil burning hot in his groin at just the thought.

“More lately.” Keith admits, a crooked little smile on his lips. “Since I started seeing you again.”

The honest confession punches a groan from Shiro. He can imagine it so easily, now, Keith coming back from seeing him, wound up and missing him. Keith’s slender hands touching wherever he could reach, imagining Shiro’s hands on him. Riding his own fingers until he came with Shiro’s name on his tongue.

He curses under his breath, curling the finger he’s got pumping in and out of Keith’s giving hole. Keith gasps, squirming into Shiro’s hand until he gives in and adds another finger. This one too, slides in without fuss. Keith just takes it, rolling down on Shiro’s fingers with his hands fisting the sheets at his sides.

“Mmh… Fuck,  _ Shiro _ -” Keith keens, once the third finger presses in with the others. This one’s a little less of a smooth slide, with Shiro’s hands almost twice the size of Keith’s own. Three is a stretch, but Keith only throws his head back and moans long and loud through the first few thrusts. 

Shiro takes steadying breaths, trying not to completely lose his cool as the man of his dreams twists and arches and breathes little  _ ah-ah-ah _ ’s with every brush against his prostate.

He’s so hard it hurts, and he bites down on the leg slung across his shoulder when Keith starts to  _ whine _ . He sucks a mark into the soft skin at the back of Keith’s knee, rolling the flesh between his teeth. All the while, he watches four of his fingers disappear into the man beneath him. It’s  _ tight _ . But the last thing he wants is to give in before Keith is ready. He’s big, much like the rest of him, and it takes a good amount of stretching to get to a point where it won’t be painful.

“Fuck,  _ fuck _ , Shiro  _ please _ -” Keith babbles under him, fingers fisted in his own hair and pulling. His cock is red and swollen, leaking steadily onto his belly. Shiro wants to devour him.

Eventually, he takes pity on him, and slides his fingers out completely. Keith pants, tries to swallow with a dry throat. It’s the most gorgeous thing Shiro’s ever seen, Keith taken apart like this.

He hisses when he rolls the condom on, so sensitive his vision blacks out for a second. He breathes deep, strokes himself a few times over just to get the edge off. It’s not an easy task, with Keith’s hiccuping breaths and the soft skin all around him, but he comes down just enough after a little while.

Keith reaches for him, and they reposition into the way they were when they started. Keith’s legs hook over his hips, feet linking up at the tops of his thighs. Shiro holds himself up on one elbow, the other hand guiding himself to where Keith is gaping and waiting.

“Hey.” Keith grins, rolling the lobes of Shiro’s ears between his fingers.

“Hey.” Shiro mirrors the loopey grin, basking in the raw affection radiating from every inch of them both. He never really thought he’d have something like this. Since forever, he’s been so scared of this, of love. But right here, with Keith pressing down on the blunt head of Shiro’s cock at his entrance, everything is completely open, honest, and--

“Wait.”

He stills, and it’s not until a second later that he realizes, the word came from his own mouth. Below him, Keith’s eyebrows shoot down into something questioning, verging on annoyed. He opens his mouth to speak, but Shiro is faster.

“I wasn’t honest with you today.” the words come pouring out, and he knows he has to say them or this will never be the memory he needs it to. He doesn’t want to keep secrets from Keith, anymore. Never again. “At Sincline’s event, Ryner Olkari’s assistant and a guy from the bureau, they-”

Keith’s lips are firm and demanding, cutting his speech right off with the wet press of mouth on mouth. When he pulls back, only seconds later, he slips a finger over Shiro’s lips.

“Takashi.” his voice is gravely, and still stupidly sexy even now that he’s being serious. “I don’t care. I’m not surprised, and I’m not going to judge you for keeping secrets. After everything, I don’t have the right to.”

Shiro tries to protest, but the finger on his lips press harder against him.

“We can talk about it later.” Keith says with a slow roll of his hips. His eyes gloss over again, and Shiro’s breath hitches at the sensation of Keith pressing against his cock. “For now, I just need you to  _ fuck me _ .”

Shiro huffs a silent laugh, to which Keith responds by yanking on his hair. And just like that, everything slots right back into place. The almost unbearable heat rolls back in the pit of his stomach like waves of lava, and he’s once again acutely aware of Keith all around him.

He slides in slow, clutched tight by Keith’s scorching walls. It knocks the breath right out of his lungs. Underneath him, Keith is hardly breathing. His mouth hangs open all throughout the slow entry, a drop of drool spilling from the corner of his lips. His eyes are hazy, unseeing as Shiro presses in entirely.

He waits. Feels the tremble of Keith’s legs around him, the fluttering clench on his cock.

“Oh, god.” Keith releases the breath he’s been holding, hands scrambling for purchase on Shiro’s broad back. “You’re- _ ah _ , fucking perfect.”

Shiro buries his face in Keith’s neck, dotting the skin with soft kisses as Keith takes his time to adjust. After a little while, he starts to move in short, gentle rolls of his hips. He gasps with every tiny movement, even as his speed increases.

Soon enough, he’s full on grinding down on Shiro’s cock.

“Now, c’mon, I’m-mmhh-!” The words die on Keith’s tongue as Shiro starts to pull out, just a few inches to start, before he slides back in.

It’s mindblowing. Keith is tight and hot and shaking on his cock, his voice coming out louder and higher with every thrust. Shiro is stupid with it, completely lost in Keith and the fires he ignites in every part of Shiro’s being.

When Shiro thinks Keith is ready, he shifts his weight, making longer, harder strokes. Keith hiccups and whines, the sounds mixing with the slick sound of Shiro sliding in and out of him at a steadily increasing pace.

It’s fucking magic, the desperate uh-uh-uh’s ringing in Shiro’s ears, Keith’s legs losing their grip on Shiro’s hips as he fucks him over the edge. Keith all but screams when it hits him, his swollen cock pumping out come in long streaks across his stomach.

Shiro isn’t far behind, dragged right to the finish line when Keith starts squirming and clenching wildly on him, overthrown with sensitivity and absolutely writhing. Shiro comes with a trembling moan, rutting into Keith until he too reaches the point of over-sensitivity.

It’s just what they can manage to wipe Keith down with the end of the bedsheet, and drop the tied off condom to the floor. Panting, dizzy, and spellbound, Shiro curls around the man in his arms, and dozes off to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 am porn is the only porn i'll ever write
> 
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/quiznakeries)


	10. Much to tell

It’s going on Shiro’s top ten hardest things he’s ever had to do, untangling himself from warm blankets and Keith’s warmer body. 

It’s long into the evening when he finally stirs, and it takes him a good few minutes just to convince himself he can’t stay here and just watch the rise and fall of Keith’s chest as he sleeps, the tiny shifts in his lips as he inhales and exhales.

Right then and there, he can almost tell himself there’s nowhere else he should be. Nothing he needs to do but sink deeper into the mattress, closer to Keith.

Almost.

But there’s a crawling under his skin, reality taking presence despite how much he wishes it wouldn’t. And so he tears himself away, rolls out of bed without a speck of grace and finds his burner cell. 

The screen floods with messages the moment he turns it on, and he mentally slaps himself. He disappeared in the middle of a fragile mission. Failed to show up for the meeting afterwards. Completely left the people putting themselves as risk in his stead to take care of themselves as he, what? Went on a sexy rendezvous?

He scrolls through the messages, most of them from Matt. Much like he told himself earlier, the guy has his location. Judging from the other messages, he’s been in touch with Griffin, and the agent himself has also left a short text saying everyone got out safe.

There doesn’t seem to be any judgement on anyone’s part for his disappearance, and he realizes that’s because they’re assuming he’s been  _ working _ .

He turns to look over his shoulder at the sound of shuffling fabric, watches Keith prop himself up on his elbows. 

Keith catches his gaze. “You okay?” 

The stress and guilt building behind his ribs fizzles away at the rasp of Keith’s voice, rough with sleep. He cracks a small smile, nods in response.

Shiro takes a moment more, just looking at Keith. His hair is a tangled mess falling over his shoulders. The grey sheet is bunched up over his hips, putting most of him on display. The flat planes of his chest, his narrows waist. The mile long legs, curled to the side so that Shiro clearly sees the blooming mark he left on Keith’s skin.

_ Fucking hell _ .

He realizes, as Keith’s gaze starts to wander, that he’s standing there just as naked, minus the flimsy sheet.

Shiro hurries to retrieve his underwear, snorting as Keith boo’s and cackles. It’s easy, verging on domestic, the way they act around each other now.

Which is amazing, but sure doesn’t make it any easier to burst the bubble. 

He’s got his pants back on, trying to find his other sock when Keith gets to his feet. He saunters up to Shiro, into his space. With one hand splaying over Shiro’s chest, he stretches up to drop a soft, lingering kiss to Shiro’s lips. His other hand finds Shiro’s, and they both smile into the kiss as Keith presses the lost sock into his palm.

After wiggling into a loose fitting pair of sweats and a long sleeved t-shirt, Keith returns to the mattress where he sits cross legged and barefoot, looking up at Shiro with a reluctant resoluteness that Shiro is honestly thankful for.

“Okay.” Keith says on an exhale. “Tell me what you’re up to.”

\---

  
  


Shiro finds it hard to feel bad about not showing up to meet Griffin at first. But from the moment he pulls out of the garage, leaving Keith behind, the fog starts to clear.

Things seem to have turned out alright, but there were no guarantees of that, not when he left. So many things could have gone wrong, while he was off getting naked with his- whatever Keith is, now. 

For every passing ring of the phone, he steps down on the gas a little harder. He’s torn, between letting himself hold on to the warm fuzz his little pocket in time with Keith has left him with, and beating himself up over how incredibly stupid he’s been. How reckless, and selfish.

“About time, Shirogane!” Matt exclaims over the receiver, ripping Shiro from his pitiful assessment of his own priorities. “What happened?”

Shiro takes a moment to think, weighing his options.

“Dude, hello?” Matt adds when Shiro takes too long.

In the end, no matter what he may think of his own actions, he decides no one will benefit from knowing the whole truth.

“Keith tracked me down in Baltimore.” he starts. “He thought I was trying to get to Sincline personally. He took me back to headquarters.”

“So he and his underground ninja-peeps don’t know why you were there?”

“Well…” Shiro isn’t sure why he’s hesitant to tell Matt the truth. In every sense of the word, Shiro is the lead. “Keith does, now. I told him.”

“Wait, really?” Shiro can practically see Matt’s eyes bugging out of his head. “You sure that’s smart? Won’t he tell the others?”

“I don’t think he will. He’s clearly sick of them hiding in the shadows and not taking action. He’s on board with helping us where he can.” He tries to keep his voice level. If there’s anything his best friend is good at, it’s sniffing out changes in Shiro’s emotional behavior.

“If you say so, man.” Matt says, and Shiro picks up on the faint sound of tapping on a keyboard. “I’m texting you Griffin’s address. Him and Rizavi are waiting for you at his place.”

The phone buzzes with Matt’s incoming message seconds later. Shiro thanks him, and ends the call after that.

The rest of the drive back into town he spends trying to focus on what their next move should be, depending on the outcome of today’s business. It’s hard, though, when his mind keeps slipping back to pewter grey bed sheets.

\---

  
  


Griffin’s home is nice. An old, white wooden house split into four homes with separate entrances. The agent lives on the ground floor, behind a glossy red door and tall windows where the blinds have been drawn.

“I inherited it,” the agent explains, before Shiro even thinks to ask. “From my grandmother. I could never afford a place like this, otherwise.”

Shiro figures Griffin must get the question often, if it’s the first thing out of his mouth after inviting a person into his home.

In the archway leading into the living room, Rizavi rolls her eyes where she stands. Shiro doesn’t comment.

He follows the two into the apartment, taking a seat at the dining table with Rizavi as Griffin darts off into the kitchen. On the table he finds a handful of binders, a few of them familiar FBI style files. It seems Griffin has taken it upon himself to make copies not just for Shiro.

“So, what happened in Baltimore?” he asks, reaching out to grab the closest folder. He quirks an eyebrow, finding it to be gathered information on Lotor Sincline. 

“Things turned out as we wanted, I guess you could say.” Rizavi says, adjusting the glasses riding low on her nose. There’s something in her voice, something hard for Shiro to pinpoint.. “Axca did come to meet us, during the Q&A.”

He nods, leaving the file on Lotor be for now. He watches her carefully, but her expression is torn.

“She wasn’t happy with us.” she mutters, picking at her nails and avoiding Shiro’s gaze. “We only saw her for a couple of minutes, and most of that time she spent hissing at us for searching her out like that. She seemed pissed.”

“Seemed being the key word.” Griffin cuts in, setting a tray carrying three steaming bowls on the table. It’s oddly normal, how he shuffles the binders and stray documents aside to set a bowl of what seems to be some sort of lentil stew and grains under Shiro’s nose. Not that he’s complaining, having gone too many hours without food once again today. “She didn’t say, but we think she was actually more scared than angry.”

The couple proceeds to retell the short meeting in detail, how Axca backed Rizavi against the wall and whisper yelled at them never to be so foolish again. How they tried to explain their motives and ask her about Lotor, about his father, but she didn’t give nothing much in response. Nothing they didn’t already know, anyway. According to her, the only reason she came to meet them was to tell them to stay away. 

At the end of it, they all agree they have to try again. She’s their best chance, unwillingly so or not. There’s no other choice, at this point. They need to get to her.

Shiro sticks around a while longer, flipping through the material and planning their next move. 

Griffin and Shiro agree that they would benefit from doing some digging within the bureau, and find out with which agents Zarkon has his eyes and ears in the FBI. For this, Shiro will begin with speaking to Keith. He also tells them, albeit an altered version, of what happened today.

“No disrespect or anything here, sir,” Rizavi raises her hands in symbolic defense. “but are you sure that we can trust him? I mean he’s a wanted fugitive working for a super secret shadow organization and- maybe, your judgement might be compromised. You know, by the way you feel, about him?”

Shiro shoots her a glare, and perhaps it’s uncalled for when the woman is only trying to make sense of a difficult situation. But he can’t really help it.

Rizavi shrinks a little in her seat, but she meets his gaze. Searches.

“We can  _ trust _ Keith.” He says slowly, clearly. He doesn’t leave room for further discussion on the subject.

As they move on, trying to think of a new plan to get in a room with Axca, Shiro wonders how Rizavi knew about his feelings for Keith. Had Griffin come across and shared office gossip, or was he really just that transparent?

It’s not really relevant, whatever the answer is. But he’ll admit it’s nice, letting his mind drift to things more pleasant than corrupt politicians, indulging in the warmth it brings him.

—-

  
  


When he gets out of the shower the next morning, he just misses a call on his regular phone. With his hair dripping, droplets shatter on the screen as he takes the device in hand and taps the home button.

His heart sinks at the contact name that pops out at him. Which is normal. It’s done that for a long time. But this is the first time that Lance has reached out to him since he found out the man's wife is not actually dead.

It’s a whole new kind of guilt.

How is he supposed to look his friend in the eye, see the pain and the struggle there just as he’s done for months, but not be able to tell him the truth?

He’s so caught up with the thought, the buzz of an incoming text is enough to startle him. He scrambles not to drop the phone.

**From: Lance McClain, 08:13**

_ Hey Shiro! Ronnie is taking J out for some aunt and niece bonding time. Join Coran and me for lunch later? _

Of course, the invitation is not what it’s drawn to look like, but it reminds Shiro of a simpler time. When Shiro would show up at Coran’s penthouse expecting a simple meal with friends but finding Lance and the lawyer lounging on the patio in fluffy white robes, with green goo smeared on their faces and cucumber slices over their eyes.

Now, it’s an invitation to come over and brief the two on how finding killers and bringing down Zarkon going.

He trusts himself to be able to keep what needs to be kept from them. He does. But being able and wanting to are far from the same thing, and the guilt is unbearable as it is. Without the confrontation.

Once this is all over, he just hopes they can forgive him for looking them in the eye and telling lies.

Before he can conjure up an excuse not to meet, he texts Lance back, asking for a time and place. 

At least Juni won’t be there to make him feel worse.

Small blessings.

—-

  
  


The only thing that reflects the old image of their lunches together is the fact Coran is serving it out on the patio.

The sun is peeking out behind the grey mass of clouds, and the temperature is pleasant enough. But there’s no electro swing music, no face masks or mimosas.

Instead there’s two men full of grief and questions. And a third one ready to lie to their faces.

They greet him warmly, as always, but there’s an air of anticipation Shiro wishes wasn’t quite so heavy. They’ve hardly sat down before it starts, and Shiro braces himself.

“So how are things going?” Lance looks at him, wide eyes hopeful. “Any news?”

He isn’t sure how much he should say. On one hand, things are fragile and should be kept under wraps. Knowledge is dangerous. On the other, he trusts these men, and they deserve to know at least something. To lock them out of things completely seems cruel.

“We have reason to believe Zarkon Daibazaal and his son are still using blackmail and threats to get ahead.” he begins with the basics, just confirming the little Coran and Lance already know. “They have eyes and ears everywhere, which means even you two need to be very careful.”

They both nod, and Shiro gets the feeling they already figured this much.

“There’s someone on the inside, close to Sincline, who might be able to help us. This person has already stuck their head out more than once and if I can only get in a room with them alone I think I can make them turn on their employers for good.”

Coran visibly flinches. Lance furrows his brows. “Make them?”

Lance is trying to read him, find some other meaning to his words. But he won’t find any. It’s not ideal, but Shiro realized at his last meeting with Griffin and Rizavi that Axca is not likely to come willingly. She’s self preserving, like most people, and won’t put herself in more danger than she thinks she can handle. Taking a U-turn and dishing out secrets to the other side is probably a suicide mission in her eyes.

But Shiro needs her to do it anyway.

“They’re frightened to go against Zarkon. If I can get them to talk, we can keep them safe. We just need to get them there, first.” he tries to explain without giving too much away. “It won’t be as harsh as it sounds.”

Likely, a lie.

“If you say so.” Lance looks over at Coran, then peers back at Shiro. “We actually have some questions we’d like answered.”

He’d known there’d be questions. Obviously, since Coran is Coran and in his line of work asking the right questions is everything. Still, he feels his knuckles whiten as he clenches a nervous fist hidden by the table cloth.

“Ask away.”

“Coran and I talked.” Lance picks at the bread roll on his plate as he talks. “About Alfor.”

“Yes.” Coran sweeps in, straightening his emerald and purple striped tie as he leans further back in his chair. “Lance came to me asking for the truth regarding the payments to keep Alfor on his life support all these years.”

Shiro only nods. He and Coran had talked about this during his last visit, and the lawyer had told him he wan indeed the one to pay the medical bill required to keep Alfor alive. Coran admitted then that he felt selfish doing so, but that he was just unable to say goodbye to his oldest, most precious friend.

“While it is true that I accorded the funds to keep the machines and nurses in place, I can’t say that granted me much access.” Coran says. Again something they talked about before. “We agree, Lance and I, that there must be answers to be found here. It seems odd for Alfor to magically wake from his coma now, with the election hanging above us.”

“Exactly!” Lance chips in. “So we figured, maybe someone was trying to wake him. Like a brain doctor or something. And if that’s even a little true, it means there are people out there trying to find answers just like us.”

Shiro never thought he’d find his friends being smart to be a bad thing. 

“So, are there?” Lance pins him with a meaningful look. “If there are others out there, you have found them by now. You must have.”

Shiro considers for a moment. The closer he lets them to the truth, the harder it will be to keep Keith and Allura hidden. But if he denies it and they don’t believe him, he’ll lost their trust. And he might need them again, before it’s all over.

He sighs.

“There are.”

\---

  
  


All in all, the lunch with Lance and Coran goes alright.

Shiro admitted to there being people working off the grid to bring down Zarkon, but managed to avoid going into detail on who they are. He told them there are different kinds of people, but put a large portion of focus on the fact the doctor last assigned to Alfor is one of them, and that she is indeed a neurologist. These news seemed to satisfy the both of them, and they spent the rest of their tie together eating and discussing possibilities and theories.

Shiro swerved and dodged dangerous topics like blue shells in Super Mario Kart, but he managed to keep his friends from digging where they shouldn’t for now.

By the time he gets home, he’s tired. He also finds that he’s now curious of Lance and Coran’s theory. Keith told him Alfor’s awakening had caused a bit of a panic. If the organisation was actively trying to get the old man out of his coma, wouldn’t they have been prepared for it to work eventually?

It doesn’t seem much relevant to the case, honestly, but it’s a loose thread and now that he’s found it, he can’t leave it alone.

It’s one of many great reasons to get in touch with Keith as soon as possible.

He tries calling the number Keith gave him before he left headquarters last night. When there’s no answer, he sends a text.

He waits.

And waits. 

There’s not much for him to do, no work to be done that he can accomplish at this moment, and he can’t take his own car to headquarters without risking being followed. 

After an hour, he starts to feel trapped. Things have begun to unfold, and with the development, his patience for waiting is running thin. So he cleans the kitchen. Sorts through drawers. Does pushups.

Another hour passes. He tries to call again, but Keith still isn’t picking up.

Shiro knows that Keith has responsibilities, that he’s probably working. But it doesn’t help. It still frustrates him to be stuck, and not being able to get a hold of Keith even now that he’s supposed to be able to doesn’t sit right.

It’s useless, but it makes him worry.

He gives it another thirty minutes before he calls Matt.

“Hey there Shirogane!” Matt calls, sounding far away as he answers the call. “You’re on speaker.”

“Who else is there?”

“Hunk,” Matt grunts, followed by a metallic clank and Hunks voice saying hello. “and Pidge should be back any minute.”

Shiro listens to the sounds of his friends working, there’s a stomping sound, and mechanic suction. Lots of whirring.

“You okay?” Matt asks, when he’s gone quiet for too long.

“Yeah, I- I’m fine. Just a little restless.” he admits, leaning back against the windowsill in his living room, scanning the mind map drawn up all over the opposite wall. “I need you to check on the whereabouts of Kolivan’s vehicles for me.”

“Sure thing, just one second-”

There’s a sound like a very big balloon popping, then the unmistakable roar of flames.

“Shitshitshit- out!” Matt hollers as an alarm goes off. “Out out out!”

There’s some shuffling and yelling, a high pitched beep and a swoosh of the secure door locking into place. Shiro hears Pidge’s “What the hell?” in the distance, over Hunk’s terrified gasps of breath.

Shiro finds his own palm damp with sweat, his heart starting to race.

“What is happening?” he demands, listening for any further signs of distress.

But Matt just chuckles, albeit a little short of breath, letting out a dramatic “phew”. “Oh you know, same old, same old. Thermo pipes bursting, fans setting themselves on fire. Normal lab stuff.”

Shiro feels something dislodging in his muscles, tightness releasing.

“I’ll just leave this to these guys.” Matt stage whispers, and judging by the sound of the tumult growing fainter Shiro figures his friend is already making his way towards his office.

\---

  
  


“Alright, here we are.” Matt chirps over the phone, clicks and taps of keys filling the background. “We’ve got one car in motion down by the navy yard, headed north.”

That doesn’t tell him much. If they’re headed north they might be going back to headquarters, but there’s not-

Matt makes a confused noise, then mutters “What?” under his breath.

“What?” Shiro parrots, his train of thought going up like smoke. “What is it?”

“The other car.” Matt sounds bewildered. “It’s not on the map. Like, I’m looking at the whole continent here. It’s not on here.”

“What does that mean?” Shiro feels himself go cold. This could mean anything, it doesn’t need to be something wrong. It doesn’t. 

His gut feeling doesn’t agree.

“The tracker got disconnected.” Matt explains, sounding a little stressed. “Which means it’s been taken apart, or destroyed. Otherwise it’d still be on the map.”

Shiro stares at the wall ahead of him, at the photos and endless words scribbled in red and black marker on the wallpaper. His heartbeat is growing loud in his ears.

“Shiro you don’t think-” Matt’s tone is troubled, if anything.

“I need you to get in your car and pick me up at Smithsonian station.” Shiro cuts him off, already scrambling towards the safe and his gun. “Right now. I’ll text you where to find me.”

Matt stutters something incoherent. 

“Get on with it, Holt!”

“Fuck, yes, okay! Okay!”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shiro never gets to catch a break does he? ah, well


	11. Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags in end notes!!!

“Okay, mister movie action hero-” Matt greets him, somewhat hysterically, when Shiro hops into the driver's seat of the car. “where are we going?”

Shiro opts to ignore the attempt at sass.

“HQ.” he says, and tosses the backpack carrying his gun on Matt’s lap. “Were you serious when you said you have a gun?”

Matt visibly pales, staring at the road ahead with wide eyes. “Uh- yes, yeah. I mean-”

“Did you bring it?”

His mouth falls open without sound, and he looks terrified as he nods. But Shiro knows him. He’s brave. He’s got this.

“Good. Hopefully, you won’t need it.” it’s a lame attempt at reassurance, but it’s all Shiro can manage with his mind racing faster with every passing minute. Taking the subway for five minutes was hell enough, but he’d promised Keith to try and keep any surveillance at bay.

Matt holds on for dear life as Shiro speeds through town, the tiny car practically lifting from the ground at every sharp turn. Just now, he misses his FBI issued SUV with its four wheel drive and bullet proof windows. The horse power in the prius is not exactly what he’s used to, either. It’s like driving a gocart.

They’re silent for most of the ride, once they’re out of the city and Matt no longer hollers profanity at every rash move Shiro makes. And once the dust settles, the tension thickens noticeably. 

Shiro catches his friend turning to him a few times, as if he wants to speak. But each time, he seems to reconsider.

“ _ If _ something has happened,” Shiro takes the ball eventually. “I want you to take the car, and part it on the other side of the main road. I’ll go in, and when I get back, we leave. You stay at a safe distance, alright?”

“Shiro-”

Shiro levels the other man with a hard glare. “Do you understand?”

Matt takes a steadying breath, nods. “Fine. Getaway-driver, got it.”

He doesn’t sound convinced. But Shiro doesn’t need him to.

\---

  
  


When they’re halfway down the old cracked road leading to the abandoned industry patch, Shiro knows he’s been right. Every part of his body hardens, sets into something robotic and self maneuvering. Where his heart should race, it slows. A forced calm he’s never learned to tap into on command, but has often wished he could.

But now he’s on a battlefield. At least according to his body. And just like that, he’s a soldier again.

Matt is ashen, eyes getting wider with every round of gunshots that split the air.

“Matthew.” Shiro puts a hand on Matt’s shoulder. He doesn’t flinch. Just stares at the bag on his lap holding Shiro’s gun. “Everything will be fine. Just do as I told you, alright?”

Matt gulps. “Yeah. Yeah you’re right. Okay.”

Shiro stops the car before it becomes visible from the headquarters, and is out of it so fast he doesn’t even register the movement in himself. Suddenly he’s just there, gun in hand and jogging towards the gate.

Which has been destroyed.

Two cars he does t recognize stand parked in the yard, with tinted windows and deep slide marks in the gravel from a hasty stop. 

A stone cold, sinking feeling kicks in when he realizes he recognizes the attached extra lights on the cars undersides, the bulk of armored plates. These are government official vehicles.

Another two gunshots sends nearby birds flying, and Shiro takes a deep breath where he’s crouching behind a garbage container. The shots are coming from the one building he’s been in, but the only way he knows to get inside is through the garage. And to get to the garage, he’ll have to get past those cars, in which, certainly, at least one person is waiting for  _ anything _ to move.

He moves as fast and quietly as he can along the fence, rounding the corner of the building. The grass there is overgrown and scattered with old tires, metal and pieces of wooden pallets. It’s difficult to maneuver through, and with all the rust and chipped paint on the walls he can barely tell the walls from the doors. But that’s what they are. When he reaches the closest one, he sees its been welded shut. The windows are boarded up too well for him to break through efficiently.

He doesn’t have time. Has already wasted plenty.

He hurries back to the corner, trying to quickly map a route where he’ll have at least some cover. The options are sparse, at best.

He’s not halfway when there’s that slide of a van door opening, feet touching the gravel. The click of a gun.

Shiro doesn’t falter, doesn’t have the time to. He strides closer, hoping to get close enough to use the car itself as cover. The absence of a kevlar vest, of protection of any kind, is a cold presence on his skin, and it makes him acutely aware of how he can’t afford one  _ single  _ step wrong today.

Things happen so fast, but to Shiro there’s a strange sense of slow motion. He sees the armed person rounding the car before he can reach it, a man he doesn’t know. In this still picture, a slice of frozen time, Shiro scans him. Notices the small handgun on his hip, the earpiece. The hand reaching for said earpiece, to turn it on, to alarm.

Shiro shoots before he can form a thought. He’s close enough for the blood to splatter his face.

When Shiro retrieves both of the man’s guns, sticks them in his pants at the small of his back, he doesn’t even think of how a chunk of the guy’s skull is missing. How the blood is pouring onto the gravel.

It’s one of those images that will be rendering until they decide to make a jump at him, in the dead of night or when the panic rises. But for now, he doesn’t see.

\--

  
  


He runs through the open garage door, through the semi darkness to the door leading into the corridor. Through that door, he spots a woman crouching by the entrance to the lunch room where he’d sat for his meeting with it’s occupants. 

This isn’t one of theirs, either.

The narrow hall is covered in broken glass from the double doors windows. The metal is dented with bullets from the inside.

The woman snaps her head his way at the crunch of glass underneath his boot, and she fires, blindly. She’s not focused enough, not fast enough. Not for an ex ranger.

The shot of his gun sounds so different, in a concrete corridor. It bounces off the walls, rings in his ears. The woman falls dead to the floor, and he spares a second to look at her, when he steps over the body. Notices something he noticed on the man outside as well.

This is not good. It’s expected, but it’s not good.

He crouches in front of the door, mindful not to get shot in the head for peeking out where the intruder had been. He has to concentrate to find his voice. “Keith?”

A moment of silence passes, and he calls out a second time.

“Shiro?”

It’s not Keith’s voice that answers him, but he’d know it anywhere.

“I’m coming in!” he warns, and waits another few seconds before bursting through the doors. There, curled up behind the fridge they’ve tipped over by the doo at the other end of the room, are two figures. Both dressed in all black, with masks and hoods covering their identity quite well.

Shiro would like to think he would have recognized Allura anyway.

“What on earth are you doing here?” she sounds bewildered, which is understandable. The person next to her is tall, bulky. Not someone he immediately recognizes. 

“We’ll take that later. Where is Keith and the others?” 

“Some of us are hidden, but they will have to come out very soon.” Allura says, heading out the way Shiro came. “We need to hurry.”

\--

  
  


They hurry further down the corridor, and turn left where he and Keith had turned right to get to his room. Allura remains in the lead, graceful and determined as she moves. They arrive at a staircase, where she nods to her companion, and the person disappears soundlessly up the stairs.

The two of them continue on, down a more spacious corridor lined with heavy steel doors.

He’s about to ask where they’re headed, when a bloodcurdling sound zips through his ears like lightning. And it’s not the gunshots. It’s the voice that comes just before it.

Keith’s voice.

Keith’s scream.

His mind goes dark, setting everything on autopilot as he runs, and Allura with him. There’s another shot echoing down the hall before they get where they need to go, before Allura wrenches a door open.

It’s a big room, at least two stories high with the remains of what used to be a factory reaching all the way up and through the ceiling. Most of the lights are dead, popping and sparking like they’ve been damaged just now. It’s almost completely dark, and with the bulk and shadows of the machines Shiro can’t fucking see anything.

“Keith!” he calls out before he can think better of it. “ _ Keith _ ?”

Shiro and Allura hop down onto the main floor, searching. Allura is the first to see something, and she gasps. Shiro whips around to follow her gaze, and finds a shape of a body in the shadows. The person is still, lying on the floor. As they come nearer, a flicker of light catches on to the glossy surface of the blood pooling from under it.

He’s seen so many die. Lost so many people he has cared for, loved even.

So why does he feel like his soul is being ripped in two, purely out of fear? It’s ice cold pain, breaking through every barrier he’s ever built. Just like that.

But then he sees it, the shimmering lining of a familiar bulletproof vest. One he’s seen twice already, since he got here.

It’s like someone shoots a cannonball in his gut, just for it to disapparate, restoring the oxygen stolen from his lungs.

“It’s not Keith.” he doesn’t realize he’s saying the words out loud until he hears them, and it’s just as Allura reaches the body. “It’s not Keith!”

Allura doesn’t get the chance to answer.

“Pretty sure I’m Keith.” a voice says. Or groans. It’s a raspy, wet and pained sound, and yet it’s the most beautiful thing Shiro thinks he’s ever heard.

“Keith.” Allura and Shiro say in unison, equally relieved. Shiro makes his way towards the sound of his voice, into the dark he’s starting to get adjusted to. It’s a drenched sniff that gives away Keith’s location, sitting with his back against a massive metal tube. “Are you alright?”

Keith hisses, as if on que. Shiro cups his cheek in one hand, just to feel him. 

“I’ll be fine.” he says through gritted teeth. “Can’t walk, though.”

Shiro crouches next to him, wiggling his arms in underneath Keith’s body. “I’ve got you.”

“Kolivan is dead.” Keith whispers into the crook of Shiro’s neck as he carries him through the darkness and back into the hall. His flesh arm is slippery wet already, and the smell of blood is overpowering everything else. Keith’s blood.

When they get back out into the light, Shiro’s glad he already has the man in his arms. He’s pale, with blood running from him nose and a nasty cut on his cheek. Tear streaks blending with red. But the main injury seems to be his leg. It’s impossible to tell with his pitch black clothing and the mess of blood, but it looks bad.

“I’m sorry, Keith.” he says, as softly as he can manage in this moment. “I’m so sorry.”

Keith snivels and squirms in his hold, seemingly deciding to put his loss and his grief on the backburner for now. He looks at Allura. “We’ve got five minutes.”

Allura nods, and she looks grim.

“Three minutes until what?” Shiro looks between the two, looking for clues.

“This place is rigged to blow.” Keith explains, sounding much too tired for the situation. A jolt of worry strikes Shiro, suddenly wondering just how much blood Keith has lost. For a moment, that distracts him from even registering what Keith is saying. “There’s explosives embedded in the walls. The entire building is coming down in four and half minutes or so.”

Shiro is too tightly strung, he can’t even find it in him to be surprised.

“No time to waste, then.”

\---

  
  


When they reach the garage, there’s only one car left, pulled up right by the entrance and waiting. At the wheel, Shiro spots Keith’s mother. 

She doesn’t even question seeing Shiro there.

Allura helps him get Keith into the backseat, and he slips in next to him. They got him lying down, with his legs now slung over Shiro’s thighs. From the glove compartment, Allura retrieves and tosses him a first aid kit.

“The green one is pressure bandage,” Allura tries to explain. “You just need to-“

“I  _ know _ .” 

He says it through gritted teeth, wasting no time ripping the hole in Keith’s pants open to see the wound better. Blood is still pulsing from the gunshot, give or take two inches below his kneecap. There’s no exit wound, which means the bullet is likely lodged in the bone.

He rips the bandage out of its packaging, presses the rectangular block piece to the wound as hard as he can, and pulls the bandage tight. Keith groans in pain throughout, and despite having done this more times than he’d like, he has to really shake himself not to let the sound get to him.

When it’s done as well as can be done in a moving car, he finally lets himself breathe.

He’s vaguely aware of Krolia and Allura speaking in the front seat, Krolia asking where Kolivan is and getting an answer. Shiro reaches up for a second, tracing Keith’s cheekbone with the backs of his knuckles. Keith leans into the touch, and it makes Shiro ache. Even more so when he notices the chill in Keith’s skin, how he’s losing temperature.

When they pull out to the main road, Shiro has already told the others to keep an eye out for a red Yaris. 

Problem is, they can’t find it. 

Shiro’s heart sinks. He tries to make Krolia stop the car for a second, just let him go and look for a  _ moment _ . She refuses. Keith grunts when Shiro shifts the position of his injured leg in order to get to his phone, and Shiro squeezes his unhurt leg in apology.

Too many signals ring without Matt picking up, and Shiro suddenly my finds it a little harder to breathe. He’s left the soldier persona somewhere in that old production hall.

Then there’s a click, and Shiro’s met by the static of the receiver. No voice.

“Matt?” He tries. “Matt are you okay?”

“Shiro!”

Matt’s relieved call of his name comes from a bit away. Matt is not the one breathing into the receiver.

“Shirogane?”

That’s Thace. Matt is with  _ Thace _ .

“Is he alright?” Shiro asks again, this time aiming the question at his former colleague.

“Holt is fine.” Thace says. “He came running swinging a gun just as we were about to leave. I’m glad to hear he’s on the right side of things.”

Shiro hears Matt mutter something in the background. “You tell him I’m going to tear him a new one for not following my instructions when I see him.”

“Roger that.” 

\---

  
  


None of them say anything when the sounds of explosives go off in the distance. No one looks back at the clouds rising from the tree tops.

Krolia takes them further north, away from the city. The car is quiet short for Keith’s ragged breathing. Shiro rubs his fingers through his hair in what he hopes is a soothing motion. It’s soaked with sweat and blood, staining Shiro’s metal fingers. 

It takes twenty minutes or so, and Shiro is growing increasingly distressed. By the time they pull up into the space that must once have been the car wash at this old gas station, Keith is barely responding anymore. The bleeding isn’t nearly as bad anymore, but it won’t stop before they can close the wound. 

Krolia and Allura are out of the car in seconds, helping to carry Keith out. Krolia grabs him under the knees and back, lifting him much like Shiro did back at HQ. She’s off with him instantly, Shiro and Allura at her heels. There are voices here, people. They pass through the old shop where most of the others have gathered and into the back room. Shiro shoots Matt a quick look when they hurry past him, but Shiro doesn’t stop. 

The back room is stashed with medical supplies. Towards the back wall, a tent-like structure of thick plastic sheets has been set up. Behind the sheets, two figures are hovering over a third, lying on a table. 

“How bad?” Romelle’s voice asks from behind the curtain. 

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Allura replies, guiding Krolia to lay Keith on the counter lining the wall. “but he should be alright. I got it.”

A weight lifts off Shiro’s heart at Allura’s words. She’s an old field medic, she should know.

“Shiro, I’m sorry, but it’s probably best if you wait outside.” 

He’s less happy hearing her say that. 

But he knows better than to argue. He gives Keith a long last look, and slips past the thick plastic sheet covering the door opening.

When he back walks into the other room, it’s Thace who approaches him first.

“Kolivan?”

Shiro shakes his head, offering the other agent a sympathetic look. He crosses his arms over his chest, and nods. Thace has a guarded persona, most of the time, but the grief washing over his features now is clear as day.

Shiro feels it too.

Kolivan has been his boss for many years, someone he’s trusted, and called a friend.

He tries not to think of how they didn’t end on the best of terms, the last time they met.

Mostly though, he’s feeling for Keith. Kolivan was the closest he ever got to having a parent, after his own disappeared. Their bond was strong, and the wicked irony that Keith now lost him just as he’s found his mother again, it’s painful.

He lays a hand on Thace’s shoulder, squeezes gently.

Shiro leaves him alone after that, and strides over to where Matt is sitting on a pile of pallets next to a woman Shiro doesn’t know. He stops a little too close for comfort, arms crossed. Matt tries for an innocent smile, and Shiro cocks an eyebrow.

Matt falters. “Fine. I’m sorry. I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while you went crashing a guns-ablazin’-party, alright?”

He doesn’t sound sorry at all, and Shiro knows he should be mad. Should lecture him about going head first into a dangerous situation like that without a grain of experience.

Instead, he finds himself smiling. Matt offers a small smile back, and he knows he’s in the clear.

—-

  
  


The wait is hell, every minute drawn out twice as long as it should be, but eventually Krolia emerges from behind the curtain. She nods in response to Shiro’s questioning gaze, and he breathes a huge sigh of relief.

“He’s stable, the bullet is out and the wound was easy enough to close up. We’ll have to wait and see, but he should be just fine.” 

She’s walking up to him, and there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. “If it wasn’t for you, he may not have made it. Neither would Allura, Regis, or the blades hiding on the top floor. Thank you, Shiro.”

“Of course. What about the blades, though? What are they?”

Krolia looks a little taken aback, surprised.

“No one told you, did they?” She smiles for real this time. It’s a perfect image of Keith’s. “It’s what we call ourselves, The Blade of Marmora. It originates to an old joke, really, but it’s come to mean a great deal to us.”

“I had no idea.” Shiro admits, and tries to think of if he’s every tried putting a name to their organization.

“Better late than never.” She looks at him, something searching in her eyes this time. “I’m glad my son found someone who will risk everything to keep him safe. He deserves that.”

Shiro feels his cheeks heat up. He sure didn’t expect to hear that, especially now. “I- yes, he really does.” Shiro exhales, suddenly realizing he’s talking about Keith with his  _ mother _ . “He’s the best man I know.”

Krolia looks pleased at that, and Shiro can’t help but preen under her gaze. It’s not the most conventional way to meet the partners parent, that much is for sure, but he’s glad he seems to have passed regardless.

“If you don’t mind,” he steers the conversation on to less… personal territory. “I have some questions I would like to ask.”

—-

  
  


“We always knew they’d find us eventually.” Krolia says, cradling a paper cup of coffee in her hands. They’ve taken a seat in a far corner of the room, both sitting on worn beyond their years folding chairs. “In truth, it could very well be through you they did so. It could also be a million other ways.”

Some of Shiro’s worry slips away. The thought definitely hit him back there, that this was all his fault. It feels comforting to hear at least Krolia doesn’t blame him.

“And the explosion-“ he begins to ask, but Krolia beats him to it.

“Some of us, like Allura and myself, need to stay absolutely hidden. According to society, we’re dead. To ensure our trace is as little as possible, we take measures. If the police arrived and found my clothing, the world would know in hours. Most importantly, Zarkon would know I’m still around and out to get him.”

Shiro doesn’t fully understand, not when they cut it so close to being blown up themselves. But it’s not something he needs to get all the details on, not today. He moves on, nodding to signal he’s understood.

“They were wearing Galra Tech body armor.” He says. “But their vehicles were government issued. Do we know who they were at all?”

“The armor suggests they were from what we’d call the inner layer.” Krolia begins, bending to draw a big circle in the dust. “Zarkon operates much through blackmail and fraud. The people affected by this are doing his bidding against their will or without even knowing. Most of them are probably not at all aware of who is pulling the strings. That’s the outer layer.”

She draws another circle within the first.

“Then there are the ones who know. The lego soldiers, their commanders, and Zarkon’s own closest. The group that attacked our base today were likely CIA or FBI, sure, but they knew they were acting outside the law.”

“Inner layer agents.”

“Yes. Only someone who is convinced that trusting Zarkon is the safer option would wear Galra armor rather than the one provided by their organization.” Krolia states, and Shiro can only agree. 

“I need to know who within the FBI are involved in this.” Krolia’s expression pulls into something unreadable. Something far less open. He’s not surprised.

“I’m afraid you’re not exactly known for your tactfulness, Shiro. If you-“

“I have people on the inside. I need to know, so that I can protect them.” The boom of his voice cracks down on the entire room. It goes quiet, and he’s sure everyone are looking at him now. He only sees Krolia, however. Stares in hope of poking holes in her resoluteness. “Keith will tell me anyway, you might as well-“

“Don’t be childish.” She snaps at him. “The wanting to protect your source was quite enough.”

Shiro sinks back in his chair, feeling much like the child Krolia just told him not to be. He doesn’t speak.

“I would advise your friend to stay alert. As I’m sure you understand, the outer layer expands all the time. Most people have secrets they feel a need to protect, even the good ones. Anyone can get roped into this, and I hope you’re absolutely sure that you can trust this person.” Shiro gives her a confirming nod, Griffin has proven himself trustworthy time and time again. He’s sure. “The one most important he keep out of bounce is the assistant director of internal affairs.”

Once he hears the words, Shiro realizes just how obvious the guess could have been. Sendak is a nasty piece of work, and not someone Shiro or anyone else he knows is exactly keen to work with. Which is unfortunate, because he’s always hovering. Always creeping around the different departments, as is part of his job. It’s the perfect position for someone willing to spy on the rest of the bureau.

He breathes a deep sigh. If the bureau is that well overseen by Zarkon’s goons, he might need to pull Griffin out before he gets himself caught and killed.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: character death, blood, mild gore, serious injury, gun violence  
> —
> 
> I’m sorry, you guys, but we’ve arrived at the point where I start killing people.


	12. Sole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when Shiro was like “fuck y’all I’m doing what I need to do” with the whole Kral Zera/Lotor situation? Yeah. We’ve got that energy going on today
> 
> -
> 
> mind the tags in end notes!

Keith was still asleep when Shiro grabbed Matt and left with a promise of coming back if possible. Krolia even gave him the location of a safe vehicle ready for pickup in the city. It stung a bit, knowing he won’t be there when Keith wakes, but after all that’s happened today, Shiro has something he must do.

They went to Shiro’s apartment, first. He was covered head to toe in dried blood and in desperate need of a shower. When he returned to the living room, Matt shoved a sandwich at him.

His friend did squint suspiciously at him when he came out wearing a suit, like it was seven am on a monday before he got canned. But he didn’t say anything.

Then, they went to visit Griffin. He didn’t take well to the suggestion for him to step down. Shiro argued, mostly to be absolutely sure Griffin knew he could take the out if he wanted. But he didn’t want it. And so Shiro sat him down, and told him everything he needed to know. He told him about Zarkon’s network, about the blades.

Griffin took it well. Said he’d long since understood this must be bigger than he first thought, and that he’d considered the risks and even talked to Rizavi about it. He’s going to continue to help, and Shiro is grateful for that.

Still, he didn’t tell Griffin what’s going to happen now, today when he’s left Griffins home. It’s best that way, best if he goes alone.

But it turned out to be a whole new kind of struggle to get rid of Matt, too. At first, he absolutely refused to leave.

“You’re going to do something stupid aren’t you?” He said the moment they left Griffin’s place. “You’re pissed because Keith is hurt, tired of this whole situation, bla bla bla. Like, I’m assuming you’re not in the suit to look good for Keith later. You’re going somewhere, and I’m not letting you do whatever it is you’ve got cooking in there.” Matt poked at Shiro’s head. “Not alone, anyway.”

Shiro didn’t answer.

When they stopped for gas, Matt was barely even out of the car when Shiro swung himself back in. He’d taken off before Matt could do anything.

Now, he’s weaving through traffic alone with a phone that won’t stop buzzing in his pocket.

Matt isn’t completely wrong. It’s true that seeing Keith get hurt set him aflame, and he is incredibly sick of all this. But it’s more than that. Zarkon’s network has poisoned the very institutions that run the country. And with the election coming up, it’s more important than ever to bring him to a halt. People are getting hurt left and right, and it’s weighing so heavy on him at this point Shiro feels as if he’s going to snap in half.

And as Zarkon’s people reached the Blade of Marmora today, they’re at an disadvantage the blades may never come back from. They are out of time for careful planning, for espionage and research. 

All that is left is action.

—-

  
  


After Shiro lost his arm and was sent home, he - like so many others - had significant trouble readjusting to  _ normalcy _ . 

PTSD has comes in as many shapes and forms as there are people experiencing it, or ever have been. Every soul damaged and trying to handle it in their own way. For Shiro, there were many things. Depression, panic attacks. But worst of it all was the night terrors. The dreams that were so real and horrifying, he’d wake up screaming in the dark.

He’d gone through all these things before, after the shooting. But if anything, knowing that just made it worse.

It tore him apart, thinking he could never truly be free of the things that haunted him. He stopped sleeping all together, for a while. And in all his many hours awake, the dreams started seeping into his conscious mind. More intense panic attacks, and even experiences of psychosis followed.

The horrors varied. Sometimes, he’d see terrible things happen and not be able to do anything, frozen in place as people, cities, worlds came crashing down before his eyes. Other times he was fighting towards something, treading through knee deep mud to get to the thing that would save him, but always sinking deeper, and deeper.

But the worst ones, they started after he lost his arm. Where he’d lose himself, become someone or something else. Something unfeeling. Evil, even. His therapist believed it was a manifestation of his fear of becoming overpowered by his own dark side. His fear of becoming the bad things he’s done, his guilt, and his regrets.

There was one of these dreams that kept repeating itself, terrorizing him many times throughout his first year back. He’d be a ranger again, on a mission in a small town. He was making his way down a narrow street, urging the civilians in front of him to move, to abandon everything and run because danger was coming and he  _ needed to save them _ .

They would reach the town square, and faceless soldiers would pour in from every side street, every open door. But they never attacked the people, the frightened families huddled up in the center of the square. They only ever came at him. He’d fight them, always in hand to hand combat. He’d feel the crack of bones as he twisted their necks, crushed skulls under his boot.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, he’d feel a surge of heat in his right arm. And when he glanced at it, it was glowing and angry red, sizzling as it came into contact with the flesh of his enemies. The heat would spread, swallow him. And suddenly, he couldn’t feel. He was only a pair of eyes, then, following the movements of the body he used to belong to as it slaughtered every single person coming his way.

They would suddenly have faces, the soldiers. And start to blend with the civilian crowd. There was no telling who was who anymore, and the flaming monster he’d turned into never cared. He would scream and fight and murder, until no one dared come near him.

He’d see them clearly, then, standing in the center of the bloodbath he’d created, the mothers holding their children tight. The stiff lipped fathers, the brave teenagers trying to shield their siblings. They all looked at him, and he looked at them.

Then he’d raise his arms, and the ground would start to tremble. It would shake and crack under their feet, but they wouldn’t feel it. Because they were rising in the air, floating towards the sky like lanterns. He would watch them rise, only to stop something like fifty feet above ground. They’d hang there, suspended, and he’d stare at them.

Everything would go unworldly quiet, perfectly still.

In the next second, with a suction like fall and empty, quiet finality, they would crash into the ground. Break, like bodies do.

—-

  
  


He doesn’t get further than to the lobby before running into trouble, but he’s not surprised. High class building like this, of course there’s on site security.

The guard blocks his path. “Easy there. State your business.”

“FBI. Please move.” 

The words are polite, but the voice isn’t. Shiro knows he looks intimidating like this, tall and broad with his eyebrows pinched and an demanding tone that drips with authority. The security guard falters slightly.

“I’m afraid I have to see some ID, sir.” 

“Look pal.” Shiro takes a step closer, towering over the other man and flashing the gun strapped to his hip. “You move out of my way before I arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

The guy visibly pales, but stands his ground for another few seconds. But Shiro knows he’s won. A threatening shift of his body as if getting ready to pounce is enough to make him take a step back.

Shiro pushes past him and into the elevator. He has to hurry, in case the guard decides to be an idiot and call it in.

He taps his foot impatiently all the way to the eleventh floor, and darts out of the elevator before the doors are fully open.

It’s surprisingly easy. The door has a code lock, and with his handy little override device the Holts developed years back, it’s a piece of cake. 

The door chain snaps like a piece of licorice and suddenly he’s standing there, in the hallway of a strangers home, pointing a gun at a startled woman he’s never met.

“How the hell-“ Axca takes a fighting stance. She’s got a great deal of calm, all things considered. “Who are you?”

“I’m with the Blade of Marmora” he’s not anywhere near sure this woman will know who the blades are, but he figures it’s probably better than claiming to be FBI. 

“The Blade of Marmora still exist?” She narrows her eyes at him, but there’s something strange in her expression. “You’re terrorists, leave at once!”

Shiro is a little confused. She neither looks or sounds like she believes what she’s saying. And there’s something he’s missing.

“We’re not terrorists.” He settles with saying, trying for a step closer. Does she have someone here with her?

Her face twitches, and Shiro can’t make any sense of her.

“Don’t lie to me. Senator Sincline and his father told me all about your operations.”

She’s talking too loud. Annunciating too much. She’s -

_ Oh _ .

It must be the third time she’s twitched or cocked her chin in the direction of the wall behind her. Shiro’s smart enough not to look straight at it, but there’s definitely a security camera there. She’s trying to  _ warn him _ .

“Think what you like.” He says, playing along. He moves closer. “It doesn’t matter.”

“The police are on the way. Get out of my house, leave me alone!”

It’s absolutely bizarre, the struggle that follows. He comes at her much as he thought he might need to if she didn’t cooperate, and she does a good job fighting him. But ultimately, luckily, he’s got raw strength and combat training on his side in this.

She screams and fights him, out the door and down the stairs. The tumult in the lobby is a quick affair, with Shiro pointing his gun at the guard and slinging the woman over his shoulder.

He runs, and throws the fake panicking Axca in the backseat of Matt’s car.

The second they’re out of sight from the building, it’s like someone flips a switch. Axca straightens herself, strong and calm. Shiro doesn’t know what to think.

“You’re a terrible actress.” He says to break the silence. She snorts, annoyed.

“I’m aware. And based on the off chance anyone buys what happened back there, I’m pretty sure you’ve just signed my death sentence.”

Shiro isn’t phased by this.

“Why are they watching you at home?”

He sees her roll her eyes through the rear-view mirror. 

“My employers are not very trusting. I work closely with Zarkon’s son, I don’t have right to privacy or secrets anymore.”

“Did you know that was the life you signed up for?” 

She sighs, looking out the window. “In a way, I guess I did. I have known Lotor for a long time.”

They don’t say anything more for a while, driving in silence to the location of Krolia’s safe vehicle where they switch cars so fast, Shiro feels the confusion in his limbs at the sudden shift in space and machinery. 

It’s not his SUV, but at least it’s not a toy car like the Yaris.

—-

  
  


He takes them out of the city, north towards the blades but not headed there.

He pulls over at a rest stop, and parks at a good enough distance from any other late night highway travelers. 

“Why are we here?” Axca asks, watching people filter in and out of the little diner.

“We’re going to talk.” He shifts in his seat to face her. “Just you and me.”

She gives him a long, analyzing look. “Are you really with the Blade?”

It’s a surprisingly tough question. Is he?

“We want the same thing, them and I, but I don’t know if I can be considered one of them.” He opts for the honest answer. There’s no point in lying now, she’s already here. “But when we leave here, we’re going to see them.”

Axca’s expression remains blank, passive. But she turns to him again before she speaks, with certainty. “You work with Rizavi, and that FBI agent.”

“I do.” Shiro nods. “Have you told anyone about seeing them?”

“What do you think?” Her voice is level, calm still. But there’s definitely bitterness there. “If I’d known this would happen…”

She turns back to the window.

“I need you to tell me what you know.” Shiro says, demands. “Ending this is your best chance, if you want to live. Don’t you think?”

There’s a threat there, of throwing her to the wolves. He knows he’s being cruel, and he can feel her resentment coming off her in waves. He can’t really find it in him to feel bad about it, yet. There’s too much left to do, too many steps where he’ll need this. This empty determination he runs on.

It’s been brewing beneath the surface for a while, but he didn’t think it’d see the light of day.

Not until he sat there in that car, Keith turning colder in his hands. 

He’s about to try again, when Axca finally decides to speak.

“Lotor wants out.” She says, and Shiro will admit that’s nowhere near what he’d thought she’d say. “He doesn’t agree with his father’s way of taking and maintaining power. He has a good heart.”

Shiro waits for her to gather her words, watches carefully the way she holds herself, how her fists clench on her lap.

“He wants to be a good man.” Her pitch has changed, her voice softer now. She cares for Sincline, cares for him a lot. “He just doesn’t… know how to.”

“If this is who he truly is,” Shiro treads lightly, careful not to make her clam up again. “Why doesn’t he come clean, bring his father to justice?”

Her lips flatten into a thin line, and he thinks he’s lost her. But then she sighs, and opens her mouth.

“He hasn’t always been the man he is today.” She says sadly. “He’s made many mistakes, things that incriminate him enough to send him to prison for life three times over. He knows if his father goes down, Lotor will go down with him. No one would ever trust him again, should he even survive going against his father. He wants to do good, but as long as his father is around, he’s stuck in place.”

It’s not what Shiro wanted to hear. 

Because finding out that Lotor Sincline is not a spitting image of his father doesn’t change anything. It only makes Shiro’s plan even less saintlike than it already was.

“Zarkon is going to get what’s coming to him.” He says, unbending. “Lotor will go down with him. If he’s going to do so under protection from authorities and good chances at some kind of deal or not - those are his only choices. There’s no stopping the resistance now.”

For the first time, Axca looks a little rattled. Her eyes widen, just a fraction, and she looks… vulnerable. “How can you be sure?”

Shiro locks eyes with her, looking at her with all the determination of a man with nothing to lose. “I won’t let it.”

She sighs, and looks down at her hands. “I have talked to him before about giving himself in. He’s not going to do it.”

“He will, with the right motivation.” Shiro says, and it comes out more threatening than he was going for. Axca huffs a joyless laugh.

“If you think I mean that much to him, I’m afraid you are mistaken.”

“The thought definitely crossed my mind.” he admits with a shrug, trying for somewhat less scary. “But the real reason you’re here is because you’re our best chance at finding out what we need to know.”

“Which is?”

“What will it take?”

\---

  
  


It takes a good fifteen minutes of lively discussion to get anywhere with Axca on the subject. She’s reluctant, for many and for good reasons, to even talk about what type of action would drive Lotor Sincline into the arms of the police.

Shiro understands. He really does. But he needs her to see the bigger picture.

“You obviously care for him.” he tries, again. “This is his best option, you must know that. If he gives himself up, it’s his best chance.”

Axca has her arms crossed defensively over her chest, with her eyes shut tight. She looks pained.

“And if he won’t go there himself, you need to tell me what will help us push him over that threshold.” Shiro pauses, and part of him hates the way he’s acting, the thing’s he’s said and will say to get this woman to cooperate. “He’s dead if you don’t.”

She flinches, sharp eyes finding Shiro’s for the first time in quite a while.

“What even makes you think I know?” she snaps, desperate and cornered.

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be asking that now. Axca I need you to level with me. If you truly want what Zarkon is doing to end…you must have thought about this.”

Guilt washes over her features like a bucket of ice water, and Shiro knows he’s finally cracked her.

She swallows, stares at him. Her breathing comes slow and heavy, and he can see her jaw set tight. Then she break eye contact, and nods almost indiscernibly. 

“It’s his mother.” she breathes the words out like a painful whisper. “He’d do anything for her.”

“She lives at a mental health facility, does she not?” Shiro remembers from his files on Lotor, the mentions of the mother who seemed to lose her mind shortly after giving birth and has been in a residential mental hospital since then. The mentions were few and sparse, but so was much else that touched Zarkon’s private life.

“Yes.” Axca says simply, shoulders drooping in defeat. “He never had the chance to know her, before she became ill. It’s a loss he’s never been able to process, and so she’s turned into something of an obsession to him.”

Shiro hums, and turns the key in the ignition. “I’m glad you told me. You did the right thing.”

Axca doesn’t answer, and Shiro doesn’t look at her. Instead he pulls out of the parking lot where they’ve been sitting for the past hour and back on the open road.

They drive in silence for a little while, and when Axca eventually breaks it her voice is small.

“What will you do?”

Shiro considers for a moment.

“I don’t know yet.”

—-

  
  


When they arrive at the gas station where the blades are hiding, Shiro and Axca both sit for a while, bracing themselves. She’s quick to notice.

“You didn’t tell them you were doing this did you?”

Shiro squeezes the steering wheel so hard, he feels the plastic start to give under the pressure.

“No, I didn’t.”

She hums, and surprisingly takes initiative, unclasping her seatbelt. “Good luck to us both, then.”

As expected, their arrival is met by tension thick as syrup. The blades peer at them, waiting for the thread to snap.

“What-“ in seconds, he has a face full of furious Allura. “-in the name of everything, have you done?”

“If you’re expecting me to defend myself-“

“I don’t!” She yells and pokes him hard in the chest, and Shiro can’t help but think living outside the law with Keith as company has really done some good on her. “I want you to stand here while I scream at you until my lungs give out!”

“Please don’t.” Someone mutters, and Allura whips around to face them with a snarl. 

Shiro takes the brief window of chance and guides Axca with him deeper into the room. On the old register counter, elbows propped on her thighs and toying with the knife in her hands, sits Krolia. She doesn’t look up at him, and he’s pretty sure he’s already fucked up his budding relationship with her.

“You’re officially wanted for kidnapping nationwide.” She says, tracing the blade of her knife with a calloused fingertip. “Kudos.”

“Your cover was already blown.” He says, glances around the room. “And if there’s anything I’ve learned from you people it’s that you don’t like taking risks. I couldn’t risk you stopping me.”

Looks like he’s defending himself after all.

Krolia stops fidgeting with the knife. It lays still in the palm of her hand as she looks down at it. It’s red silicone handle is worn, but in good shape. Same goes for the rough toothed blade. Shiro knows the type, having seen them in use plenty of times with accident rescue assistance and firefighters to cut through tough materials like vehicle textiles.

Maybe it belonged to Keith’s father, once.

“You’re right.” Krolia says, just as Allura stomps up to them. Her face falls, hearing the older woman’s words. So does Shiro's.

“I abandoned my child and set my own house on fire.” She keeps talking. “Keith is wanted for murder. And you,” she finally looks up, locking eyes with Allura. “Left your family behind.”

They’re all silent, watching as she slips off the counter and pockets the knife. “We’ve all done things to protect those we care about and the secrecy of our cause.”

She turns to leave, but throws a glance at Shiro over her shoulder. “He’s awake, if you wish to see him.”

He watches her go, and then turns to Allura.

“Allura-“

“Save it.” She interrupts him, lifting her hand in an stopping motion. “She’s right. What you did was reckless, stupid, and dangerous. But I can’t judge you.”

She looks at him with glossy eyes, a slight tremble in her lips. He opens his arms, and she closes the distance. “I’m just terribly scared for you, Shiro.” She mumbles into his shoulder. “I just got you back.”

—-

  
  


Keith looks a hundred times better. Clean and patched up, color returning to his cheeks.

He’s resting on an army bed, and Shiro has to kneel on the floor to sit with him. 

“You’re back.” Keith rasps, giving him a tired smile.

Does he know yet?

“Couldn’t stay away too long.”

Keith snorts, grins. “ _ Sap _ .”

“How are you feeling?” Shiro finds Keith’s hand in the blankets, covers it with his own.

“Tired.” Keith mumbles, letting his eyes flutter closed. “Lost a lot of blood, apparently.”

“You did. You gave me quite a scare back there.”

Keith smiles again, a dopey thing that flashes his teeth. It’s infectious. Shiro grins back, even if Keith isn’t looking. He’s so fucking relieved that Keith is okay, he could just sit here and stare at him all night.

“Shiro?” Keith breaks the comfortable silence after a minute or two. Shiro hums in response, tracing patterns between the freckles on Keith’s bare arm with his thumb. “Should kiss me.”

“Yeah?” He huffs a quiet laugh, but goes to do as he’s told. With his prosthetic hand reaching up to tilt Keith’s chin up, he drags the moment out until Keith slaps his arm weakly. He plants a soft, lingering kiss on Keith’s dry lips, and smiles into it. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Keith mumbles against Shiro’s mouth. “Even the kidnapping, batshit crazy part of you.”

“They told you, huh?”

“Yeah.” Keith lifts his head with a tired sigh, rests his forehead against Shiro’s. “I’d ask for details, but I’m so fucking tired.”

“You should sleep, I’ll tell you all about it when you’re better.” Shiro shifts as Keith lays back, presses a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Will you be here?” Keith is drowsy with sleep, but Shiro can still interpret the underlying questions there.  _ Will you do something worse _ ?  _ Will you be safe _ ?

And he really doesn’t have the answers.

“I’ll always be here, Keith.”

\---

  
  


In the main room, most of its occupants have gone to sleep. Amongst the few left awake, he finds Allura, Axca, and Romelle. They’re sitting in the corner, where he and Krolia had their talk earlier. Axca looks uncomfortable, as is to be expected. He’s only glad she’s not in panic, kicking and screaming to fight her way out.

He joins them, and they make some slightly awkward small talk for a while. If Romelle retelling the open surgery she had to perform earlier and the rest of them asking questions can classify as small talk.

“I’m actually glad you two are awake. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” he addresses Allura and Romelle, who peer curiously at him in response. He looks at Allura. “I met with Lance and Coran.”

The expression she takes on is nothing but heartbreaking. This immense sadness and longing, mixed with affection for the people mentioned and an eagerness to listen. It’s hard to meet that look.

“They brought up questions about Alfor,” he takes the opportunity to look elsewhere, at Romelle. “and about you.”

“Me?” She looks a little taken aback, but the curiosity doesn’t waver.

“They are wondering whether you had something to do with how Alfor suddenly became conscious.”

She makes a dramatic face of faux innocence, and side glances at Allura.

“Ah… that.” She’s speaking in a higher pitch than before, and clears her throat before continuing. Beside her, Allura looks… pensive. “Well. I always found coma patients fascinating, and when the blades introduced me to Alfor’s condition and asked me to take the spot as his doctor, it was simply because we wanted eyes on him.”

“But I had some conditions,” she looks to Allura again, and this time, her expression is apologetic. “I asked to run my research with electromagnetic pulse on Alfor. No one ever expected him to wake, so I argued there was no risk. At best, we’d get him back, even if the chances were very slim.”

“So you… experimented on him?” Shiro suddenly understands all the looks flying about.

“Yes. I did. Like I said, no one expected it to work, so they let me, but then…”

“He actually woke up.” Shiro finishes, finding it hard to believe, despite everything. Stuff like that doesn’t happen, do they?

“And boy, did it cause a panic!” Romelle exclaims, dragging her hands down her cheeks. “As a scientist and doctor, I’m thrilled. Things like this have been done before but never with anyone who’s been comatose for so long! I’m actually quite sad knowing I can never publish my work, but under the circumstances-”

Her long rant continues, with a dramatic storytelling flare that Shiro finds he really appreciates. It lightens the general mood a good deal, and he’s thankful for that.

She tells him about how her procedures were never questioned, as a young scientist working with a prison inmate in a coma no one really paid much attention to whether her work was legit or not. No one really cared. She also explains how Kolivan had reacted to the news that Alfor was awake, and Shiro can’t help but laugh a little at her impression of his hard, stoic face turning saucer eyed and pale. 

By the time she’s done, Allura is snoring gently where she’s leaned back against the stack of crates she’s seated by. Romelle retrieves some blankets from somewhere, and lays one carefully over Alluras sleeping form. The others, she hands to Shiro. 

“You two should try and get some sleep, too.” She reaches out to Axca, who flinches at the other woman's advancing, but remains seated and confused when Romelle simply pats her gently on the head. “I’ll be sleeping in the back room with Keith and Antok if you need me, okay?”

She disappears out of sight, leaving Shiro and Axca alone. They’re the only ones still up, but Shiro can’t imagine Axca is going to get much sleep tonight. 

“Have you decided what you’ll do yet?” she asks after a while, picking at a loose thread in one of the blankets resting on her lap.

“No.”

It’s not untrue, he’s not sure what he’ll do yet. But he’s thought about it. It’s all he’s thought about. And he thinks he’s getting there.

Axca doesn’t seem to believe him, though.

“Are you going to kidnap her, like you did me?” she’s still not looking at him, and her voice is hardened. Tougher than it’s been since he’s met her.

Shiro stares, tries to get a read on her and what she’s fishing for. But he comes up empty. 

He realized a little while ago that despite his best efforts, he’s underestimated her complexity. She’s clearly self preserving, scared. But she’s also loyal, committed to the man she works for. And she’s brave. Much more so than he thought when he kicked down her door.

When Shiro doesn’t respond, and the silence starts to grow long, she finally shifts her gaze at him. He’s not sure how to interpret the resolution, the determination he reads in it.

“Because if you are,” she speaks, so low it’s more of a whisper. “- right now is your best chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: kidnapping, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, mild gore, mass killing  
> \---
> 
> so my beta got back to me and said "well, shiro's insane now" and i just. yeah


	13. Hit me with my whole name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please read the tags in end notes if you think you might be sensitive to content!

He doesn’t expect Axca to join him.

“I’m not letting you hurt her.” She explains, her brows and jaw set. She’s conflicted, but clearly, she’s doing this.

“I wouldn’t-” She glares at him, gestures to herself, and he lets his words fizzle out. She has no reason to trust him on any level, in the end.

He has only thought about this in passing. It’s such a graceless plan, and he never thought he’d have Axca’s help. So he discarded it. Because it’s just not a question of getting into a secure facility and stealing a patient out of their bed. It’s also keeping it under wraps enough for Lotor himself to be the only one to know, which is much easier said than done.

Especially, since Zarkon owns the place.

Axca tells him all Lotor’s ever told her while they drive. Apparently, Zarkon spared no expense when his wife got ill. He bought out the entire premises and it’s business, long term residence and hospital alike. This to ensure he was kept in the know of exactly how his wife was treated, and that she had the best possible care.

However, this is where his affectionate actions ended. As a man of power, Zarkon had never been one to display his feelings, and a hospitalized spouse was exactly the type of thing he wouldn’t acknowledge publicly. And so, Honerva Daibazaal was kept in shadow. So much that Lotor hardly ever had the chance to visit her, or even get to know her through his father. All the boy ever had was his mother’s journals.

Honerva has been a physicist, before everything, and her work with Galra Tech was how she’d met Zarkon. During his years interning at the company during college, Lotor got crumbs and pieces of stories. Of how his parents shared a thirst for development, even if Honerva searched for knowledge, when Zarkon sought power. It brought them together in a strange kind of love that only the two of them ever seemed to understand.

Lotor was still a newborn when his mother began to change. She’s suffered from postpartum depression, and even rejected her baby. It developed into something more aggressive over time, and before Lotor was even a year old, Honerva was taken away for good.

Doctors said she likely had the tendencies to psychological issues laying dormant long before the birth, and what would have been a quite common condition came to act as a stepping stone to more severe mental problems.

“I think he’s blamed himself sometimes. As if had he never been born, she would never have become ill.” Axca says, looking out the passenger side window. “ I can’t believe we’re setting out to kidnap a sick old lady to use her against her son.”

Shiro doesn’t speak, hasn’t been speaking at all through the story. Instead he watches the road ahead, and tries to take in all the things he’s hearing. It makes something too familiar clench in his chest, a pain he didn’t notice had been absent until just now, as it begins to reappear.

What the hell is he doing?

“I wish she was coherent enough to speak with. If she asked him to, Lotor would do anything.” Axca says sadly, but Shiro isn’t listening anymore.

A rushing noise fills his ears, and he clings to what Axca just said. Kidnapping a sick old woman in order to use her as a chess piece. To put her in danger. The nasty thing twists and squirms behind his ribs.

Images begin to flash in Shiro’s mind, of Allura’s empty coffin being lowered into the ground, Coran balancing on a chair to retrieve documents hidden in his office ceiling. Lance screaming at Shiro in the hall at work, Juni clinging to his leg. Keith in an empty room, holding a cold pack to the throbbing bump on Shiro’s head. 

A car honking furiously snaps him out of it, Axca letting out a startled Yelp beside him. The car is barely moving. At some point, he’s eased up on the gas, lost in a swarm of reminders why he’s here.

“What are you doing?” Axca tries to remain level-headed, keeping her voice calm. But her face gives her away, shocked and frightened at his sudden change in demeanor.

Shiro blinks a few times, tries to answer the very same question himself.

His prosthetic fingers claw at the fabric of his jacket, just above his heart. When did he stop feeling? When had the guilt and the pain and the fear evaporated into nothing? He swallows.

He feels the battle going on in his blood, suddenly. His sense of right and wrong, his fear of becoming that evil thing he knows he carries with him, they’re fighting the soldier determined to bring this terror to an end whichever way possible.

Shiro has no idea, which one to give in to.

He pulls over, and all but tumbles out of the car and out into the midnight chill. The air is damp and here it smells like forest and mud and gasoline. He breathes it all in, one breath, two.

His heart is beating so hard it hurts, thundering in his chest as he tries to just  _ think _ .

Part of him wishes he hadn’t gotten to this, that he would have just stayed in that empty headspace where whatever means necessary to bring Zarkon to justice were perfectly doable. Where it didn’t matter if that meant kidnapping someone, risking their life. Or using a sick old woman to force her son to surrender. Because if he’d just go through with this, things can finally change. His sanity will be the price he pays to bring Allura back to her family, Keith and the other blades out of hiding. All the people blackmailed and threatened by Zarkon freed.

Would they still love him if he did it? Could he ever go back? If he gives in to the dark, will he ever return? If not, what would happen to him?

Axca’s careful footsteps approaches him slowly, and he tries to focus on the sound of her shoes on the pavement. It’s a real, grounding sound. Nothing like the shrill noise overlapping the thumps of his heart, shaking the inside of his skull.

“Why are you doing this?” He asks once she’s close enough to hear him whisper.

For a long moment, she doesn’t answer. They just stand there, caught in the orange glow of the cars blinking turn lights. Now and again, a lone car passes by in the dark.

It seems she isn’t going to say anything, but Shiro really, really needs her to. So he asks again. “Why are you here?”

_ Why are you willing to do something so terrible to someone you love _ ?

He turns to look at her, and she’s staring up at the sky, arms crossed and expression full of sadness.

“Because I don’t see any other way.” She says, and there’s a tremble in her voice. “I don’t want him to be caught in his father’s web forever. And I don’t want him to die.”

—-

  
  


Because Lotor doesn’t like his father keeping tabs on every breath he and his employees take, there’s a secure phone line on which Axca is tapped in. That’s the way they plan to contact Lotor without Zarkon finding out.

If they can make it in and out unseen, that is.

After getting back in the car, they began to map out their plan of action. It’s a risky, flimsy thing, and if Shiro was going alone, he wouldn’t doubt it quite as much.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” He tries while parking the car in the shadow along the stone wall surrounding the premises. 

They know the place doesn’t have much external security, a few cameras by the entrances and patio, but that’s about it. Once inside things are going to get trickier, because despite having been here before, Axca doesn’t have any knowledge to share about the number of guards or silent alarms there might be. Most staff should be out of sight during night hours, but that’s as far as they can guess. If they weren’t so pressed for time, Shiro would much rather go back and do their research. Find some blueprints and schedules, make a  _ real plan _ .

But here they are.

“Should have thought about that before you broke into my apartment.” She shoots back, and he knew it was coming but that doesn’t really make him feel better. 

Shiro sighs and follows her lead, quietly exiting the car and peering over the wall. She points to the white building closest to their location. That’s the long term residence where Honerva lives, fit for those who are not considered a flight risk or dangerous to others. Behind it is another, larger building that connects to the first via a glass, ground level tunnel. That one’s the hospital, which is where most staff and security should be. There are two more smaller buildings further down, but Axca admits she doesn’t really know what they are.

“If we can just get in to the residency without being discovered, we should be able to find Honerva’s room and-“

“Great plan, you guys.”

Shiro and Axca both snap to attention, whipping around to find the source of the voice. Shiro has his gun out in a blink.

Within a second, he’s considering throwing it at the face resting on a pair of crossed arms on the roof of their car.

“Matt.” He notices Axca exhaling beside him at the sign of Shiro knowing this person. Matt wiggles his fingers in a little wave. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You do remember me tracking your phone, right?”

Actually, in the midst of everything, Shiro didn’t remember that. The weight of the phone in his pocket is suddenly very pronounced, and he curses under his breath.

“Anyway.” Matt pulls back from the car, takes a few steps down the dirt path they’ve parked on. “We figured you’d need some help. Or a reality check, we were ready for whatever.”

“ _ We _ ?” Shiro finds himself following Matt into the dark, Axca trailing carefully behind him.

“Oh, yeah, I went back to see your FBI friend.” Matt explains, sounding like they’ve just run into each other at the grocery store. Where did that pale, freaked out lab rat go? “He and his girlfriend are here too.”

—-

  
  


Shiro decides he’s not even going to question how they got here before him and Axca did. He just climbs into the black van parked almost all the way to the other side of the premises. 

It’s a surveillance van, a real one.

Rizavi doesn’t even look up from her screen, tapping away at her keyboard. Shiro stares at her, then at Matt as he takes a seat as well.

“Alright, so-“ Matt opens a few tabs on his screen. “We made some assumptions and went ahead with some stuff.”

“How-“ Axca starts talking, but gets interrupted by Rizavi who swivels around on her stool to face them.

“With everything we know about Lotor, this place was already one of the significant dots on the map.” She shrugs one shoulder. “When we saw Shiro headed in this direction we just kinda figured.”

“How long have you been here?” Axca leans over to look at Rizavi’s screen, where a blueprint takes up most of the space.

“Like, ten minutes? We got a little ahead of you when you decided to take a pee break down 97.”

“It wasn’t-“ Axca stops herself. “How can you help us?”

“Well, for starters, in one of these buildings you said you don’t know what they are-” Matt rolls over, and points to the blueprint of the building closest to the vans location on Rizavi’s screen. “-is actually the surveillance center. All cameras and alarms and shit are controlled from here.”

Shiro and Axca look at each other. That’s definitely good to know.

Matt continues to explain how far they’ve come so far, figuring out where the cameras are located and what type of system it is. How they’re just waiting for the lone person sitting in the control room to step out so they can clone the feed without giving themselves away. That Griffin is currently squatting somewhere with a pair of infrared binoculars waiting for that to happen.

“Once we’ve cloned the feed, we can pause the cameras for long enough for you guys to slip past unnoticed. It’s pretty basic stuff.” Matt wheels back to his own screen. “The real challenge will be getting past the staff. We can be your eyes, but the stealthy shit is all on you.”

Shiro is about to say something, comment on how impressed he is. On Matt’s bravery, too. He never doubted his friend had it in him, but truthfully he hoped they’d never get here. But he doesn’t get a chance to, before there’s a sharp  _ ding _ .

“That’s Griffin!” Rizavi says, eyes widening behind her glasses as she hurries over to Matt and his screen. Shiro and Axca follow her example, crowding around the guy to see.

As usual when Matt does something, Shiro doesn’t really understand what’s happening on screen. It’s just a screen full of numbers and gibberish to him. Still, the significance of it all is nothing short of electric, charging the air in the van. 

Matt types furiously, much like Shiro has seen him done so many times before, and the tapping sounds are enough to send his heart racing.

“And- we are in the kookoo-cabana.” Matt grins as a number of small tabs pop onto the screen, each displaying a different patch of in- or outdoor space in black and white. 

Rizavi makes her way to the padded seat at the deepest part of the van, and brings out a cooler bag. She unzips it and tosses Shiro a plastic packet.

“She’s on some strong sleeping meds, so she should be kind of out of it.” she says, as Shiro inspects the packet. It’s a syringe, and before he knows it he’s catching a small bottle as well, followed by a packet of sanitizer wipes. “That’s is thiopental. You inject her with this and she’ll be lights out for long enough for you to get her back here where we can keep her sedated.”

Rizavi gives them both a long, almost pleading look. 

“She’s a confused old woman who shouldn’t be involved in this. Make sure she’s safe and knocked out good.”

Shiro has a million questions, mostly revolving around where they got their hands on medical supplies and drugs like this. He doesn’t ask them, though. There’ll be time for that later. For now, he just nods dumbly, handing the things to Axca who sticks them in her hip satchel. 

Matt turns to look and Shiro and Axca, nodding to the doors. “You two should get going. Here-“ he tosses them an earpiece each. “We’ve got you covered.”

Axca gives a stern nod, headed out while getting the earpiece in place. Shiro lingers for a little while, sharing a long look with his friend. 

“Thank you.” Is all he can think to say, but he really tries to put some weight into it. Matt just smirks and leans back in his seat, but Shiro can tell he’s got the message across.

He’s one foot out the door when Matt speaks up behind him.

“Hey Shiro?” He looks over his shoulder. Matt is still in the same place, smirk softening slightly. He raises a finger and wiggles it at Shiro. “I’m still pissed at you for ditching me. If you die before I get to execute my revenge, there will be hell to pay.”

—-

  
  


It’s a whiplash experience, with how he was set on this mission being a real challenge and an ever greater risk. Suddenly, it seems perfectly doable, and it’s thrown him for a loop.

But he’s so fucking thankful, as Matt’s voice in his ear tells him it’s fine to approach the patio entrance. Even more when that same voice warns them about the nurse coming down the hall right before they scramble the code lock.

He and Axca crouch against the painted brick wall, hiding in the shadow of the planters standing by the doors. He can’t hear anything from inside, the only sound the buzz of the lamps lighting up the patio in their soft glow.

“She’s gone, it’s green to go.” Matt whisper yells in his ear, and he can imagine his friend practically vibrating from nerves even where he’s sitting in the van.

The lock gives easily, and Axca slips in before him. The corridor is dark, but the light from outside the large windows is enough to highlight the beautifully carved cornices, the paintings lining the walls in wooden, glossy frames. It’s nothing like any care institution Shiro’s ever seen, but he can hardly be surprised Zarkon left his wife in a luxurious home.

They move quickly down the next corner, up the grand stone staircase. At the top of the stairs, the hall branches into three corridors, all cast in darkness. 

“Next camera is off, take the corridor straight ahead.” Matt guides them, and Shiro nods for Axca to take the lead. “They’ll be making rounds up there again in twelve minutes.”

This corridor too is oddly extravagant, every door set in an arched frame, with brass plates reading the name of the rooms occupants. And at the very end of the hall, there’s a door saying H. Daibazaal. 

They share a moment, just standing there outside that door, with the static of Matt’s microphone and the low hum of the ventilation filling the space. They glance at each other, and in that brief moment Shiro reads on Axca’s face the same things he himself is feeling. Determination, to see this through. Worry, for something to go wrong. Guilt, for so many things. They’re all right there on her fine features, and it somehow both spurs him on and frightens him at once.

But Axca is turning the door knob, and there’s no going back now.

\---

  
  


Slipping into a moonlight lit room, furnished like any normal bedroom with the trinkets and the decorations, the photos, Shiro feels a chill in his bones. Sleeping soundly in her bed in front of them is a woman, real and breathing, and completely undeserving of what they’re about to do to her.

His resolve is crumbling now that he’s seeing her face, this actual person he’s about to steal away from her home.

He’s a little glad to be feeling it, the reluctance and the disgust. It means despite what he’s doing, and despite what he’s done, he hasn’t lost himself.

Axca’s steadying breath is barely audible even in the quiet room, a slow inhale and exhale before she powers through and gets to work. Shiro watches, keeps an eye on the elderly woman’s sleeping figure as Axca carefully wipes down the soft crease of the elbow on a bony arm.

He’s holding his breath when the needle touches skin, steeling himself for what they might do if the woman stirs awake.

Honerva shifts, grunts softly in her sleep as the syringe pierces a blood vessel. The five seconds it takes feel like lifetimes, just staring at her face. But she doesn’t wake.

There’s a crackle in his earpiece, and he looks up at the security camera blinking a red light in the corner. 

“You need to give it a minute or two before you can move her, let the thiopental get around a bit.” Rizavi says over the receiver, and Shiro wants to slap his hands over his face. Of all things, standing around in Honerva’s room waiting for the drug they’ve given her to kick in is not something he’s feeling up to. Especially not with the ticking clock hanging over their heads.

Axca seems to think the same thing, throwing him a concerned eye before returning to putting the supplies back in her bag. They’ve got nine minutes to get the hell out of here, and that’s if they’re lucky and no one decides to start their rounds minutes earlier than their written schedule.

“By the way your friend Griffin here is a genius.” Matt pipes up, and Shiro wonders if his friend knows they really need the distraction or not. “He’s busted the tires on every vehicle he could find on the premises!”

Shiro can’t actually respond, he doesn’t have a microphone, and honestly he’s a little glad. Griffin has once again shown great initiative and quick thinking, things that would propel him straight ahead in his career if he’d shown them at any other time. But now, he’s an accessory to a kidnapping. Committing the very type of crime he’s signed a contract to fight and to prevent.

It’s started coming in waves in the past few hours, icy cold and too clear for comfort, the realization that Shiro has dragged other people down with him for this cause. That they may never be able to go back to their jobs and their normal lives after all is said and done.

In that sense, he wishes this would never end. Because then he’d never have to face the consequences.

He can’t even hear the static of the microphone anymore over the thunder of heart and thoughts in his head.

“Her breathing is more shallow,” Axca whispers to him, and the clock tells them three minutes have passed. “-heart rate is down. I think we’re good to go.”

Six minutes.

They’ve got six minutes to leave this building, and preferably get in the van before the clock hits zero. 

There’s no describing the nasty feeling of taking an unconscious stranger out of their bed and carry them in your arms, their resting face none the wiser, completely unaware they’re being used as a pawn in a game they never wished to enter.

It’s sickening, and Honerva is feather light in his arms.

Back in the corridor the dark is more dense, the air a little thicker. It doesn’t help. But they’re faster now, Axca setting a brisk but silent pace that Shiro falls in line to.

They’re almost down the stairs when there’s a crackle in his ear, and he doesn’t have to hear Matt’s words to know they’ve fucked up. The presence of the active earpiece is physical, the static a barely there vibration. And he didn’t notice when it disappeared.

“They blocked my-y signa-l!” Matt yells, just barely patching through. “G-t out -ow!”

Axca throws a wide eyed look over her shoulder, panic rising to her features. But she’s fast, pulling the gun Shiro’s given her out of its holster.

They sprint down the rest of the stairs, and Shiro can’t do much but follow when Axca darts off in the other direction than they came, towards the hospital.

It’s the right call, because they’ve hardly made it around the corner when heavy footfalls start to bounce off the walls from behind them.

“The tunnel to the main building has an emergency exit!” Axca whispers over her shoulder, and Shiro remembers her inspecting the blueprint earlier on Rizavi’s computer. The exit should take them straight out into the yard, a large open space which isn’t ideal, but in the dark they should have a fair chance at getting away.

The murmur of voices and the increasing thump of heavy boots urges them into a run, and Shiro is acutely award of the body dangling in his arms.

Warm light from the garden cuts through the dark in the opening to the glass tunnel appearing down the corridor the next time they turn a corner. If they can just-

“Shirogane!”

Shiro curses under his breath, because that voice was enough to give him nightmares long before any of this began. What’s even worse are the implications that come with Director Sendak bring here.

Shiro prays the agents at their heels are unwilling to risk firing at them as long as Honerva’s safety is compromised, that they won’t be reckless. He wonders if they all know what they’re doing, or if they’re acting blindly under Sendak’s orders.

—-

  
  
  


Everything happens quickly, but just as in any other battle, Shiro sees it in slow motion, experiences everything so clearly. The firm press of Axca’s elbow colliding with his arm when she pushes him towards the exit ahead of her, the slippery satin of Honerva’s pajamas sliding on his prosthetic arm. The adjustment his eyes make when he reaches the tunnel. How the air goes from sanitizer and wood polish to grass and heavy rain when he shoves the glass door open.

Axca is just behind him, she asks a question and he answers it but the answer is negative, he can’t see the van. He doesn’t know where the fuck to go but  _ away _ . So he runs for the main gates, because it’s all he can think to do.

The rain is coming down so hard he can just make out what’s what, and rushing sound of it is too loud in his head. People are screaming behind them, telling them to stop, to surrender because it’s no use. That they can’t get away.

But they run. 

The grass is wet and soft under his boots and it makes his steps more heavy. An alarm is going off in the distance somewhere, inside the buildings. 

The force of a gun aimed at you is like a ghost touch. So present and real even if nothing is touching you. Shiro feels it prickling at his feet, where he knows they’ll shoot. It’s what he would do, it’s what any level headed agent would do. Aim at the feet to incapacitate without killing and causing minimal harm to the hostage. But it takes a good shot, as long as Shiro keeps the distance.

It’s the sound that reaches him first, the wheels racing and sliding on the gravel, brakes screeching when the van appears at the gates and steers right towards them.

Shiro wishes he could tell them not to, to remain at the gates and let them cross the premises on foot because- 

The sudden increase in urgency fires the first shot. The bullet rips through the grass at his feet, and the chain reaction is immediate. He can see it in his mind's eye, each and every bullet casing landing in the wet grass, feel the force of the recoil. 

Every whistle of a moving bullet screams in his skull and his legs move all on their own at this point. He clutches the tiny body he’s carrying, tries to bunch her up in order to protect her. Axca fires his gun behind him, and it’s enough to make his head spin not knowing if he wishes for her to hit her targets or not. 

The van makes a U-turn on the grass, one of the doors at the back flung open and revealing both Matt and Griffin, screaming at them to hurry and he’s running faster than he knew he was still able towards them. They’ve gained a good distance, maybe two hundred feet from Sendak and his agents. 

It’s almost enough.

But he knows that sound, that pained yelp and the thud of a body hitting ground that follows. He doesn’t need to turn around to confirm because his friends faces ahead of him tell him all he needs to know.

He’s leaning into the van in a matter of seconds, letting Griffin take Honerva as carefully as the moment lets him. It’s swift, exchanging Lotor’s mother for Matt’s gun and swinging right back. 

There’s three of them, and he knows them all. It makes his stomach churn how easily he recognizes them, even in the distance and in darkness. Sendak is charging towards them, taking the lead like the stone cold soldier he is. Behind him, two distinctly different people follow. There’s agent Trugg, a tough woman who has had her eyes on Kolivan’s job for years. She looks threatening and fearless, gun raised and unafraid to fire it. But the third person, he’s different. He’s one of the younger agents in the internal affairs unit, Ryan Kinkade. He too has his gun aimed, but his body language betrays him. Shoulders low, arms bent. He’s turned at the van, and Shiro knows he’s seen something that’s awakened doubt. Most likely, he’s familiar with Griffin. They’re about the same age, started working at the bureau around the same time. It’s likely they know each other. 

Shiro fires. He doesn’t aim to hit anyone, just stop them from advancing enough for him to get to Axca first. She’s down but alive, lying on the grass with her back turned to Shiro. He knows she’s alive because he sees the flash as her gun goes off, just before he reaches her. He also sees the glint of Trugg’s gun as it flings through the air and the woman shout in pain and surprise when the bullet shoots straight through the palm of her hand.

It startled the agents enough to leave a window for Shiro to scoop Axca up. She doesn’t so much as hiss when he moves her, despite the bullet wound under her right collarbone. He gets her over his shoulder to free his arms as much as possible, and Axca holds on the best she can. It takes them seconds to maneuver but it feels like minutes. 

Sendak shoots and he misses, again and again, and for the first time, Shiro is glad to know Sendak’s character. That he’s too impatient to be a good shot, especially in the half dark and rain making it hard on his aim. 

Shiro’s usually good aim is severely compromised with the body sling across his shoulder and the movement of his feet as he heads back to the van as fast as he can with his back turned. 

He’s missing too.

Kinkade has fallen behind with Trugg, leaving Sendak to handle Shiro alone and it’s a blessing. His next shot grazes Sendak at the hip but the man hardly even flinches.

Despite what official documents, the news, the public might say; Shiro doesn’t feel like the bad guy now. Perhaps he should.

He hears the van, backing toward him somewhere behind his back, but he’s out of bullets and  _ damn it all to hell _ . It’s no use to hold on to it and Axca is slipping in his hold so - 

He drops the gun.

But in the same breath as he sees something vicious twist and curl on Sendak’s face, which is getting far too close for comfort, the heat of the exhaust pipe fan over his legs. 

Sendak is screaming, raging closer and someone’s pulling Axca over his arm and shoulder into the van. Shiro drops to help them move her, and then the slow motion turns into a blur. He’s on his feet, and Sendak is shooting but he’s so close - Shiro lunges at him, hoping the adrenaline and surprise will be enough to ruffle the biggest guy he’s ever known.

Shiro was careful with one thing, when he first started to bulk up, and that was to stay agile, light on his feet. He kept practicing aikido regularly, even in the military. And in his six years with the bureau, it’s come in handy more than once to be more swift than he appears.

It serves him well now, and with some help from disorienting rainfall and the wet grass, Sendak falls to the ground in seconds.

Which gives him just enough time to turn his back and sprint into the moving van, doors slamming closed behind him. He tumbles to the floor with the force of it all, just barely escaping landing on Axca. Outside, he hears the directors absolute howl of rage become more distant by the second, and it’s like his entire being kicks back in with the wave of relief.

“Shiro-” 

He looks up at Griffin, who’s sitting with Honerva at the far back. But he isn’t looking back at Shiro. He’s looking past him, looking at-

“Matt?” Shiro scrambles up from the floor, ice cold dread striking the flame of relief straight out of existence. He kneels at his friends side, hands drawing on auto pilot to cover and press at the spot where blood is pumping through the hole in Matt’s jacket, pooling in the creases. “Fuck-”

“Hey-” Matt wheezes, strained and wet and weakening. Shiro doesn’t want to listen. “I’m not mad at you.”

A hopeless kind of anger mixes with the whirlwind of terror and reluctance and worry that’s already making him dizzy. He presses harder on the wound, tells himself he isn’t seeing Matt’s blood seep up between his fingers. “Don’t  _ talk _ , Matthew.”

Matt cracks a weak smile, blood gathering at the edges of his mouth. “Gee, you’re hitting me with Matthew?”

Shiro sniffs, and only then does he realize he’s crying, hot tears mixing with the rain already streaming down his face. He wants to say something, anything. Too many things. But he feels it, sees it when that spark that’s made him furious, made him laugh and every other possible thing, just kind of fades from the colorless face below him.

“Matt?” He presses harder on the wound because he doesn’t know what else to do, how to undo this like he needs to. It’s like the light goes out in the van, like the top has disappeared and the rain is pouring down on them, soaking him to the bone and making everything cold. “Matt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: Big (not major) character death, gun violence, blood, injury, kidnapping, breaking and entering  
> \---
> 
> i'd say please don't hate me but i kinda hope you do


	14. Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end, folks!

The first time Shiro met Matthew Holt was at Samuel Holt’s office, in the spring of 2004. Shiro has already met Sam a few times, thanks to Allura who set up their first appointment. The two of them were taking measurements and discussing the upcoming surgery when Matt burst through the door. 

“Hey dad do you-“ the guy froze mid step when he saw Shiro. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

Sam looked unimpressed, and pulled the measuring tape back with a snap. Later on, Shiro would realize there’s a good chance Matt knew exactly what he was walking in on, even if he never admitted as much. Because instead of leaving as he probably should have, the young stranger with shaggy hair and a pair of perfectly round glasses reached to take his hand.

“I’m Matt, this here is my old man. Hence the sudden intrusion.” He cocked his head to his father, who rolled his eyes, and shook hands with Shiro. He had a goofy grin, and that nerd chic look that Shiro really liked.

Honestly, Shiro thought he was very cute.

“I’m Shiro.” He went for a polite smile. 

“Woah you’re the one trying out the Atlas arm?” Matt’s eyes widened in excitement, darting to the tied up sleeve where Shiro’s arm should be. “That’s so dope, have you seen the prototype yet?” 

He stuck around for the rest of Shiro’s appointment, after making sure Shiro was okay with it, and they hit it off instantly. Matt even offered him a ride home afterwards.

Truth be told, Shiro kind of mistook Matt’s behavior as flirting. Who’s  _ that _ excited about a robotic arm?

Turned out Matthew and Pidge Holt were exactly that excited, and what Shiro thought might be his first date in years turned out to be a group outing to the Smithsonian’s new exhibit with Pidge and Hunk. It took him years before he admitted to his mistake, and Matt mock-flirted with him on a daily basis for over six months.

The Holt siblings nerding out about the IGF Atlas was a perfect way to force Shiro to socialize, which helped a lot with his recovery. They would pop in during his appointments with Sam, drag him along to whatever they were up to that day afterwards. They were the closest thing he had to family watching over him during and after the surgery, and helped an incredible lot with the physical therapy that followed. Whatever worry or anxiety he had about them only hanging out with him because of the arm they’d take in stride and prove him wrong. 

Without them, Shiro would have struggled. Alone, aimless and disabled in a new city there’s no telling who he would have become. And he likes to think he’s had some impact on them as well. He was the first person Pidge came out as non-binary to, in the wee hours after game night when neither of them could sleep. He’d been there the first time Matt tried putting in lenses on the day of his graduation, and laughed himself nauseous before helping the guy who was so nervous his hands were trembling. He’d dragged Matt to every type of exercise form he could think of to help him find something that worked for him when he wanted to get in shape. And then took kickboxing for beginners for a year to keep him company. 

He went to the Holts house for Thanksgiving every year. 

They shaped his life and gave it meaning, and he’ll always love them for that.

—-

  
  


It will never matter how many times it’s happened. Having a life end in his hands, or suffering a loss, will always be as grotesquely painful as the first time. It’s not like all the cuts on his heart has toughened the tissue with scarring, but every time he bleeds and hurts as if he’s never experienced death before.

He leaves Griffin to do all the work, to set Honerva on a slow injection of sedatives, to help Axca and patch up her wound. He would assist, but Shiro is too numb to move. It’s all he can do to stay kneeling on the floor, holding on to Matt’s cold hand and let the anger and sorrow twist his insides. There’s no light in Matt’s brown eyes, no life. It looks so wrong. Bizarre because Matt was full of life.

Things were normal, just minutes ago. 

It shakes him to his core, knowing he will need to face Pidge, Sam and Colleen after this. How is he supposed to look them in the eye and tell them he’s dragged Matt straight in the arms of death and that he’s  _ gone _ ? How it’s Shiro’s fault and that he can’t take it back.

He doesn’t stir from his near paralyzed state until there’s a hand on his shoulder, Griffin’s voice distant to him when he says they’ve arrived at the gas station. He can’t focus on anything, swallowed up in the pit of guilt he’s found himself in. It’s a challenge for whoever they are, bending his clenched hands from Matt’s and leading him out of the vehicle into the building.

There’s voices and shapes of bodies, faces, all around, but he can’t see them properly. It’s like he isn’t even there, just a pile of flesh and bones being guided like a child by firm hands on his back and shoulder. Even the touch is distant. 

When the hands on him retreat, it’s like something pulls him to the floor from within his bones, and he collapses into an embrace. The warm, familiar smell manifests like colorful smoke behind his eyelids, and he tightens his arms around a slender waist. Keith’s waist. Keith’s arms around his shoulders as his devastation rips him open, and he begins to cry again.

\---

  
  


Shiro doesn’t know when or how he fell asleep, but when he wakes there’s a blessed moment where he doesn’t know anything but the feeling of Keith’s body next to his. But reality crashes over him like a collapsing building and he trembles. Buries his face in Keith’s shoulder and breathes in deep.

Fingers comb through his hair, slow and soothing. Under his hand, Keith’s stomach raises with every steady breath he takes.

For a long while, he lets himself remain in the safe bubble Keith has made for them here, on what seems to be an air mattress, more spacious than the army bed he’d last seen Keith in. Had he known Shiro would come back? Was his leg too bad for the hard bed?

The leg he hurt likely because Shiro lead the enemy to him. Another thing that’s his fault, his responsibility-

“Stop that.” Keith’s voice murmurs into his hair. “I can  _ feel _ you guilt-tripping yourself.”

Shiro sniffs, can’t muster a response but knows Keith will hear him anyway. He always does, always has.

“Hey,” Keith shifts, nudges Shiro’s chin with warm knuckles. “look at me.”

He does as he’s told. Because Keith wants him to. Because he’s tired of not listening to anyone else. He’s so fucking tired. And Keith is beautiful, eyes heavy and soft and vibrant as ever when Shiro meets his gaze. Shiro relishes in the one breath’s time he gets to look at him before his eyes fill with tears once more. Keith brushes the tears off his face with his thumb. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Shiro wants to protest, but his body is so heavy, his mind in such a fog, he just can’t. Not right now. So all he does is sob, listen to Keith whispering promises that won’t stick.

There’s no telling how long they’ve been here, and Shiro is too exhausted to recognize the urgency itching beneath his skin, the unfinished mission tugging on his limbs. That is, until a new voice breaks the illusion of privacy the two of them have created for themselves.

“Axca is in contact with Lotor.” Allura tells them, and there’s a winded quality to her voice. Like she can’t quite believe what’s going on even as she sees it happen. “He’s outraged, but it seems he’s giving in. We should prepare to get moving.”

Keith huffs in disbelief laced with hope, and Shiro doesn’t need to open his eyes to see the surprised half smile he’s bound to wear. 

\---

  
  


It takes another half hour, and some thorough delegating, but soon enough Shiro finds himself standing in the half light of early morning, watching Keith swat at Romelle trying to help him into the car.

He missed most of it, the negotiation and decisions made on how Honerva would be returned safely in exchange for Lotor turning himself in to the police, and a promise of testifying against his father when the time comes. Shiro’s left the daze for annoyance over being left out of planning, but more than that he’s worried. 

It’s far from over, but if Lotor Sincline keeps his word, he’ll be in the major crime units interrogation room at the FBI within the next forty minutes. Shiro is to join the little group that are headed to a pickup point to bring him in. Arrangements have been made for him to escort Lotor into the building safely. Krolia has joined Griffin and Rizavi and already left the premises with take Honerva to another decided location. Axca is staying behind, protected by the blades that are not coming to keep an eye out for Shiro and his little team, until further notice. Same goes for Allura and Romelle, who will also remain here now.

The atmosphere is tense, loaded with everything that might go wrong. This is it. If they fuck up now, there’s no coming back. No second chances. Shiro takes a long breath, tries to gather his thoughts and make sense of the burst of information that’s been tossed at him in the past five minutes.

He recognizes the presence next to him the moment the heavy boots come to stop next to him, and he turns to look. Ulaz is watching Romelle’s continued fuzzing. She’s not happy with Keith’s insistence to come with, and she’s not shy on expressing it. Not that it’s any use, with Keith promptly ignoring her and slamming the car door in her face.

“He’s a force to be reckoned with, that love of yours.” Ulaz breaks their silence, and Shiro sees the hint of amusement on his face as he says it. He’s in good spirits, hopeful. Must be, to be talking to him as if things are normal. 

Ulaz believes they’re going to succeed, and Shiro does find it comforting. Clearly, his subconscious still trusts him, despite everything. It feels like a lifetime has come and gone since they were close, since Shiro found purchase in what Ulaz had to say. 

“You’re coming with us?” Shiro asks, steering off the subject of Keith. When all this is over, he’ll talk about that. Ulaz hums his affirmation, and makes his way to the driver’s seat without further ado.

  
  


It’s a taxi car, and it’s a deja vu type of feeling sliding into the back seat next to Keith. Another memory that feels like a lifetime ago, even if it’s only been a matter of days since Keith instructed him to get in a cab outside his apartment. 

This time, he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out, taking Keith’s hand in his and squeezing. Keith looks at him, fond and soft in a way that Shiro isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to see directed at himself.

“How do you feel?” Keith asks, leaning into his space just the faintest bit.

He would have protested against Keith coming along when he’s injured, if it wasn’t for this. His mere presence is like a balm to Shiro’s nerves, calm and comforting even when Keith himself isn’t.

“Like this will work out.” he dares a small smile, tugs a little at their joined hands. “Like the next time the cab stops outside of Sal’s, I get to take you with me.”

\---

  
  


During the ride, they go over what’s going to happen. The only one of the blades still within the walls of the FBI is Thace, and he’s already in place under the pretence of another case. It’s nearing seven AM, and people are bound to start filing in for work by now. Which is probably for the best, to have as many people around as possible should Zarkon’s contacts try to intercept. They’ll all be safer in a crowd.

Thace has informed them of Sendak’s presence at the office, he’s been holed up in his office since he got back from Honerva’s hospital, and there’s no telling what orders he’s under, or how much the other side knows, for the moment. All Thace can do about Sendak is to keep an eye on the closed door and hope for the best.

Once they arrive with Lotor, chaos is bound to ensue. Keith and Shiro both are wanted fugitives, and they’ll be taken into custody immediately. It’s all part of the plan to make them appear as sincere as they possibly can right off the bat, turning themselves in at the same time as they deliver Lotor. The risky part is keeping Lotor safe throughout, which will fall entirely on Thace and Ulaz. Not that Shiro doesn’t believe they’re capable. 

There had been discussion, that Shiro  _ missed _ , about whether or not they should bring original files and proof straight away; make a compelling case with a proper backbone. Shiro was glad to hear the group had decided against it. There’s too much of a risk, bringing in all they’ve got against Zarkon before the work to bring him in has even begun.

As a group of professionals, planning is easy. It’s making sure things don’t go up in flames by being prepared for surprises that is the true challenge, and it doesn’t really matter how many criminal cases you’ve endured. 

It’ll always be impossible to predict every possible outcome, but they’ve tried their damndest.

\---

  
  


The pickup point is the back entrance to Lotor Sincline’s office building. Shiro has scooted over to the middle seat, because only in the back are the windows tinted. Ulaz has rolled the partition up, creating a cramped but shielded space for the three men.

It’s a tense thirty seconds, the brief window of time between them pulling up on the curb and the door cracking open. Shiro takes a steadying breath, glances over at Keith who meets his gaze with the same loaded anticipation as he himself must show.

They’re so, so close.

A head peeks out through the door, a burst of color in a long braid swaying off the top of her head. Shiro recognises her as one of the women who sat with Axca during Sincline’s speech in Baltimore, one of his inner circle employees. Her wide eyes squint at the car, before she turns to look back inside with an anxious frown. She says something, and Shiro just sees her flinch before the door slides open with a swoosh. 

Lotor Sincline steps out on the pavement as dignified and handsome as ever, as if he’s not anywhere near turning his entire life upside down. It’s respect worthy, how he still carries himself with pride even now. Flawless, with his pearly white hair brushed back and a grey, almost lilac three piece suit, he’s reached the car in two long strides.

He almost seems unreal, in the graceful way he moves. He slips soundlessly into the car, not bothering with the seatbelt. When the door closes, it’s like the space shrinks. There’s an air of command coming off this man, and even though Shiro senses the cracks in its surface, it still sucks oxygen out of the vehicle.

Shiro finds himself wondering if this man would have done their country good, had things been different.

On his other side, Keith fiddles with his gloves, restless and avoiding looking straight at Zarkon’s son. The car starts moving, and the silence is a thick fog to breathe through.

He wishes he could say something, but he wouldn’t know where to start. Lotor has committed terrible crimes in his past, and should take responsibility. He’s not taking the blame for anything, he isn’t innocent. Still, Shiro feels truly terrible for the drastic means which they’ve used to bring him in. He isn’t sure if it’s right, but he’s-

“You are  _ sorry _ .” Lotor’s voice is deep and smooth, floaty and thus shouldn’t serve such a punch - but Shiro feels it like a fist in his stomach nonetheless. Shiro turns to looks at him, surprised not only to hear him speak first but because of his words. He’s resting his chin on his knuckles, elbow propped up on the car door. He doesn’t meet Shiro’s gaze, but watches the awakening city flash by outside as they make their way closer to their destination. 

Shiro doesn’t say anything, but continues watching the older man, trying to get a read of him. But he’s wearing a perfectly expressionless mask, practised and perfected through his many years in politics and business.

He’s definitely not expecting it, when a few moments later, Lotor speaks again.

“As am I.”

\---

  
  


Less than a minute before they proceed down into the underground parking lot under the J. Edgar Hoover building, Lotor receives a video call from one of his people, proving that they have Honerva in their care and that things on their end has gone smoothly. It eases much of the tension in the man's shoulders, seeing his mother fast asleep and safe.

Shiro, on the other hand, feels nauseous. But at least now that shameful part of this whole ordeal is over. Honerva is going back where she belongs, hopefully none the wiser. Next to him, Keith squeezes his hand in what Shiro assumes is a silent attempt at comfort. It helps, grounds him. 

He squeezes back, and once the ache of that guilt start to fade he realizes; this is it.

The car stops where agent Thace stands at the ready at the inner gate, leading to the restricted section of the parking lot set aside for transporting high risk witnesses and other sensitive subjects. They pass on through, and the heavy gate clanks shut behind them. This part of the garage isn’t as dimly lit, and here the concrete walls are painted a stark white. There are three parking spots, a secure door, and an elevator protected by both digital and physical locks. 

Still, leaving the car feels like leaving themselves exposed.

Thace meets Lotor with a jerky nod, to which Lotor doesn’t offer any response. He simply follows, head held high. Ulaz watches Shiro help Keith with his crutches, and turns to walk to the elevator the moment they’re both on their feet.

“Do you think he’ll keep his word?” Keith whispers, leaning into Shiro’s space even if he probably maneuvers just fine on his own. Shiro lets his hand set to rest at the low of Keith’s back, keeping him close.

“I can’t afford not to.” Shiro mutters back, and he thinks that says just about all of it. He has no idea whether Lotor will live up to his promise or not, now that they have nothing but empty threats to push him further. They would have kept Honerva until after, if possible, but any confessions made under such circumstances would be tossed by any judge they present it to. It’s risky enough, doing it like this. It’s all they can do to keep their fingers crossed, now, and throughout whatever chaos will ensue after.

They all enter the elevator together, and Thace enters yet another set of codes to bring them to their floor. The ride up is more tense, if possible, than the car ride leading them here. Every breath is slow, measured. Each of them wound up tight, ready to snap at any moment.

The elevator comes to a stop with a soft  _ ding _ , and it’s like the world stops to offer them a last breath before the doors slide open.

It’s anticlimactic.

The almost homely smell of this corridor, this office, hits Shiro first. A moment like this should not feel so much like stepping into your own living room in terms of comfort zone. It throws him off, how normal it is. Because it is, normal. It’s just past seven am, agents and other employees are moving up and down the corridor on the other side of the mirrored glass wall. It smells of coffee. 

In front of him, all the others have begun to make it down the short corridor towards the interrogation rooms. At the door, everyone but Lotor turns to look his way. 

“This is where we part.” Ulaz states, as if they all don’t know as much. Thace nods to Ulaz, then to Keith and Shiro, before turning to murmur something to Lotor. They slip out the door together seconds later, and Shiro feels a wave of anxiety wash over him. Whatever happens now, is officially out of his control.

He takes a moment to let that sink in, to gather himself. Then he locks eyes with Keith, who stumbles directly into his arms. For a few seconds, they just stand there, holding each other tight. Shiro buries his nose in Keith’s hair, feels him breathe. Feels his heartbeat.

When Keith pulls away, he tilts his head back to meet Shiro’s gaze. A warm hand comes up to cup his cheek, and Shiro leans into it. He holds Keith just a little tighter.

“Hey.” Keith flashes him a smile, and it’s like a warm blanket against the chill of uncertainty that’s starting to make his bones go stiff. “I love you.”

He swoops down to kiss him, a chaste and trembling touch of lips followed by his own shaky exhale. It’s harder than he thought it’d be, even thinking of letting go now.

“I love you too.” he speaks into Keith’s cheek, wishing he could just stay here. Stay with Keith.

But they’ve got work to do.

\---

  
  


It’s far beyond stressful, waiting.

After starting a commotion bringing themselves in and officially being arrested, Shiro and Keith have both been brought to different places. It was agent Dos Santos that came into Shiro’s interrogation room, and it was clear as day his old friend and colleague was torn on how to proceed.

Shiro did what he was supposed to, and claimed his innocence. He didn’t answer questions, didn’t ask for a lawyer.

There wasn’t much to do after that, and Shiro was left alone.

It’s been over an hour since then, three since they first arrived, and he’s been pacing back and forth in the little room for most of that time. At some point, Axca will arrive and give her statement, claim that she wasn’t kidnapped and point out her own flawed acting on the security tape. They won’t be able to keep him on the charge of kidnapping her.

The second kidnapping is the issue that will keep him in jail for god knows how long before things get processed and he goes to trial. Sendak, Trugg and Kinkade all saw him at the scene, and even if Sendak and Trugg will be considered untrustworthy witnesses, there’s a good chance he’ll serve some time despite how things work out.

At least Allura will come back if all goes well, and Keith will be cleared of all charges.

It’s all depending on Lotor and the blades, the case they can build against Zarkon.

And Shiro is already going crazy not knowing what’s happening, how things are progressing so far. He doesn’t know a thing, locked in a soundproofed box and left to wait.

He paces until his legs start to hurt, the lack of food and sleep starting to catch up with him finally, and he sinks to the floor with his back against the wall. He watches the door, hoping for something to happen, but nothing does.

His mind wanders back to what’s happened in the past few hours, the dull ache that’s remained with him since he woke up splintering and piercing him inside out. Images of blood gushing out between his fingers, of empty hazel eyes. He bursts into tears again, far past the point where he stopped restricting himself from his emotions. He’s too wrung out, too tired.

Right now, mourning is at least something he can do.

It’s ugly, but it passes the time. He doesn’t look back up at the clock on the wall until he can breathe normally again, when he’s rambled sorries to himself and hoped for someone to hear them, curled into himself so tightly it made him hurt. An hour and a half has ticked by, and he’s sore and exhausted.

He considers maybe going to sleep right there on the floor, eyelids heavy and his vision turning to a blur, when the doorknob rattles.

In the doorway, Dos Santos and Iverson peer at him where he’s curled up in a corner across the room. They both look like they’ve just stepped off a roller coaster, and Shiro figures that must be what it feels like to be an FBI agent in Washington this morning.

“C’mon, Shirogane, let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

\---

  
  


He’s moved to a safe room, which is basically a cell but with a thicker mattress and painted walls. A locked door instead of bars. He gets to go to the bathroom, take a shower, devour some IHOP takeout. No one tells him anything, and it annoys him, but at least he feels like a human being again.

Sleep comes in short bursts, with him constantly startled out of bed by an alarm that doesn’t exist, a feeling of being too late or missing something important. 

He’s given up on rest by the next time someone knocks on his door. There’s no voice, no one opening the little window in the door to tell him what’s going on before the key turns and the door creaks open. 

And he really wishes someone would have warned him, because he’s not ready for the tidal wave of guilt and dread and hopelessness that crashes over him when Pidge enters the room. Their face is blotchy and streaked with tears, eyes red and puffy. They look at him and he sees the heartbreak he’s caused, that he’s guilty of.

He can’t bring himself to speak.

Pidge steers over to him, wheelchair brushing against the bedframe with how close they get. Shiro prepares for that famous Holt outrage he’s seen before, but worse. He closes his eyes, and waits.

But the vicious words, the anger, the potential beating, doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a firm touch to his wrist, tiny cold fingers wrapping around it and tugging hard. He tips over, into Pidge’s space, and can’t stop the punched out breath of relief when a pair of skinny arms wrap around his neck, holding on for dear life as Pidge trembles with the force of their sobs.

Pidge sticks around, despite the agents that try to tell them they’ve got no authority to. They can be fiercely persuasive, and terrifying, when needed. Shiro is just glad for the company, and the crumbs of information Pidge has to offer.

Zarkon has been arrested, in line with a frighteningly long line of other powerful people who have either worked for the man directly or under threat and blackmail. Sendak, Trugg and three other FBI agents amongst them. The investigation has kickstarted full force, and it’s all over the news. Pidge doesn’t know anything about Lotor, or about Keith, but promises to snoop around when they can.

They talk about Matt. Pidge says they don’t blame him, that he couldn’t know. That Matt would have found a way to tag along whatever anyone would have done, that it wasn’t Shiro’s fault.

Pidge asks if Matt’s involvement was at least beneficial for the mission, and Shiro almost laughs.

“There’s no way we would be here without him.”

\---

  
  


The entire day has come and gone, and it’s way past regular hours but the entire office is still buzzing with life and movement when Shiro is finally brought out by Iverson. People stare as they walk past, some nod, a few wave or smile at him and he takes that to mean things have progressed in the right direction. 

It makes it easier to breathe.

Iverson takes him to a conference room, where a few familiar faces await.

Griffin has never looked so ruffled, his hair sticking out in every direction and his tie undone, but it suits him. He grins at Shiro when he enters, tired but undeniably pleased. Shiro offers him a smile. Next to him, Rizavi has crossed her arms on the table, using them as a pillow for her head where Griffin is scratching her neck with the hand that isn’t tapping on his phone. Rushing out of a seat close to the door is a flash of hot pink and orange, and Shiro finds himself pulled into a tight embrace. Coran all but coos as he tries his best to snap Shiro’s spine in half, and it’s a welcome thing.

Before long, they’re joined by Keith, now seated in a wheelchair. It looks dainty next to Pidge’s, and they muster a few sassy comments about inadequacy that end in Keith swatting at them with a hearty chuckle.

There’s a warmth filling the conference room that Shiro hasn’t felt in a long, long time. He basks in it, tries to suck it all up and restore what’s been lost in him these past few months.

He opens his eyes, that he didn’t even notice falling shut, to a nudge from Keith beside him. Shiro rolls his head to look at him, to revel in how good he looks, in the simple fact he’s even here. Keith squints at him, almost playfully. “You okay?”

Shiro nods, threading his fingers with Keith’s on the table. “I’m okay. How are you doing?”

“My mom and Allura are being interrogated now, Romelle is here too. Everyone are safe.” Keith doesn’t look away from him, his gaze full of warmth as he talks in a low voice. “So I’m good.”

Shiro smiles, so fucking glad to see Keith so calm. So fucking happy to know things might work out after all.

Then it hits him, and he startles in his seat. Keith watches him, surprised, and Shiro leans into his space to whisper. “Does Coran know? About-”

Keith’s eyes go wide, mouth shaping a perfect little O. He leans closer to Shiro, and whispers back. “We both missed it, but yeah. They met when she first came in a few hours ago.”

Shiro can’t even find it in himself to be bummed, he’s just glad it happened. That Coran got his family back.

“What about Lance and Juni?”

Keith shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Pidge chimes in, leaning over Keith to look at the both of them.

Shiro and Keith look at each other, and he’s pretty sure Keith thinks the same thing as him. Pidge has been with Shiro all this time, they don’t know about Allura yet. Shiro can’t help but feel a little giddy, excited to see Allura back where she belongs.

\---

  
  


It takes another half hour before Allura arrives, and in that time a stack of pizza boxes has landed in the middle of the table, which means Pidge has their face too stuffed with cheese and bread to notice the new presence in the room.

It’s a whole mess of pizza topping and screaming and hugging once Pidge turns their head to see who has put their hands on their backrest. The moment has them all burst out laughing, and the feeling is so alien to Shiro at this point, he’s left winded by it. Laughing, feeling happy. He’s been such a mess, he forgot what it was really like. They all did.

Allura is clearly restless, even more so when they notice Coran’s sudden absence in the room. She paces back and forth, hands covering her mouth. Shiro reaches for her when he spots the glossy tears clinging to her eyelashes, and he takes her hand in his.

“What if he can’t forgive me?” her voice is so weak Shiro barely hears it. “I let them mourn for me, I-”

Shiro shushes her, rubs the back of her hand with his thumb. “Allura listen. None of that is going to matter. They just want you back.”

Allura sniffs, but nods. “Thank you, Shiro.”

He smiles, and brings her in for a tight hug. He understands why she’s anxious, anyone would be. But he’s been here while she was gone. Hopefully, his words have meaning to her and she’ll know he’s right.

They’re still hugging, when it knocks on the door. Allura flies back, standing a few feet from the door as it opens.

Shiro doesn’t know where to look. At Allura, or at Lance standing in the doorway. Allura’s face twists as she begins to cry before Lance has even registered what he’s looking at. Shiro sees it, the second it dawns on him and his eyes widen, how he supports himself from falling by holding onto the door handle.

Lance opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He just flounders to regain some control of his limbs, stumbling forward to Allura who surges in to meet him.

“Lance!” her voice is trembling and desperate and so overfull with emotion Shiro thinks his own heart might burst. She lunges at her husband, hands cradling his face as they crash into each other. Nonsensical noise, half words lost in the blur, is all that comes out of Lance as he holds Allura in his hands and stares at her face. He’s started to cry, but his face is practically frozen in shock. His wife on the other hand, isn’t frozen. She runs her hands over Lance’s face, his hair, his shoulders, pawing wherever she can reach as if to recommit the feel of him to memory.

The kiss has Shiro tearing up, with Allura holding on to Lance’s face and Lance finally starting to regain some function and pulling her close. 

Next to Shiro, Keith reaches up to rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades, and it only has Shiro sobbing that much more.

He doesn’t think he can feel more love, until there’s a tiny voice coming from the doorway. Shiro’s heart clenches. Juni is in her PJ’s, dragged right out of bed and put in some shoes and a coat over her Tigger-themed sleepwear. She’s in her grandpa Coran’s arms, her tiny hands fisted in the shiny pink fabric of his shirt and staring at her parents.

“Mama?”

The noise the rips out of Allura is unlike anything Shiro’s ever heard from her, and it’s heart clenching. Coran all but skips into the room with the little girl, letting her grab for her mother who catches her with trembling hands and curls into the tiny body with a sob. Juni hiccups and cries as her mother holds her, whispering into her floofy hair and kissing the top of her head over and over again. Lance closes the slight distance, sandwiching the child between the both of them. He leans his forehead against Allura’s, and closes his eyes with a heavy sigh. 

He looks so happy, so perfectly content, Shiro knows this has all been worth it.

\---

  
  


They eat, and talk, and cry and laugh some more after that. Just enjoys this little window of peace before the new round of work will begin. Shiro is still being charged with kidnapping. Keith is being charged with hindering of a criminal investigation and obstruction of justice for going off the grid. Some of the blades, including Romelle, are also facing charges.

“Lucky for you, you’ve got the best lawyer in town in your corner, don’t you think?” Coran snickers and twists his mustache between his fingers once they’ve listed all the criminal charges they’re going to need to deal with.

When Keith beats Shiro to it and asks, Coran confirms that he’s already signed off on taking every single one of the defense cases involving Shiro and the blades, to which the entire table applauds.

“I’ll be here to help if you need me.” Lance offers, standing to pull back Allura’s chair where she sits with Juni snoring loudly in her arms. “I think we all will. But at least I’m not an assumed criminal here.”

No one has any comebacks on that one, and the group just flows into the line of hugs and softly spoken words as Lance and Allura bids their goodbyes. At the door, the couple gives the group a final little wave before disappearing down the hall, and Shiro finds himself watching the door long after they’re gone.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Pidge sliding up next to him, also watching the empty doorway.

“My brother made that happen, didn’t he?”

Shiro glances at his friend, so similar to their older brother in looks it both pains and warms him to look at them. “Yeah Pidge,” he places a hand on their shoulder. “-he did.”

\---

  
  


At the end of the night, it’s only Keith and Shiro left. The room is littered with pizza boxes and empty soda cans and it smells like sweat and cheese, but Shiro wouldn’t change a thing.

Except maybe, in a perfect scenario, Keith wouldn’t be confined to a wheelchair and in quite a bit of pain.

He says as much, and Keith laughs. Shiro laughs with him. When they stop, Keith is looking at him that way again. The way that makes him all tingly, inside and out.

“Think they’ll let us bunk together if we go to jail?” Keith quirks his mouth into a teasing smirk, eyes glinting.

“Sure hope so.” Shiro says, with feeling, and leans in closer. “I’ll need you to protect me.”

Keith chuckles, a sweet rumble that’s just stupidly attractive. He loops his arms around Shiro’s neck, pulls him in. He hums. “Don’t you worry. No one’s getting past me.”

“I’m counting on it.” Shiro grins, and kisses the smirk off Keith’s mouth.

It’s as electrifying as every time before, feeling Keith melt into his touch. His breath hitches and he pulls Shiro closer, urging but letting Shiro lead. The angle is awkward but it doesn’t  _ matter _ . Keith’s lips are soft and warm and pliant against his and he never, ever, wants to be without this feeling. 

And he’s going to fight tooth and nail to make it so.

  
  


_ Fin~ _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Tiny Epilogue to wrap things up:**

  
  
  


The legal process is long and difficult. With the charges against him, paired with him being considered a flight risk, Shiro spends some time under lock and key without bail. Which wouldn’t be so bad, if the same didn’t go for Keith. They don’t see each other for almost two months, having been placed in different parts of the same prison.

It takes them little to no time to figure out a way to communicate, though. When Shiro comes down for his meals, an hour after Keith, he always sits at the same place. And always, without fail, he finds a note wedged between the frame and seat parts of the bench. When he retreats, he leaves one behind for Keith to find.

Their little game of notes vary from conversational to random puns to the occasional spicy content, the last of which always leaves Shiro red faced as he sets away his tray and rushes back to his cell. It’s an effective way to pass the time.

Once Keith is released, on parole but without a prison sentence, he visits Shiro as often as they’ll let him. 

Shiro’s case takes more time, but the opposing counsel has trouble making their allegations stick. Any blood left behind by Axca was washed away by the heavy rainfall that night. The gun found on the scene was registered to Matthew Holt, who is deceased. The plates on the van were fake, and thus untraceable. The van, once found, was clean from prints or any other viable clues. Of the three agents who had witnessed the kidnapping, two were deemed unfit to testify. The third, Ryan Kinkade, claims not to have had trouble seeing through the rain and darkness, but that he was pretty sure the man who carried Honerva into the van had brown hair. All security footage of that night had been erased, and the circuits fried. Honerva didn’t remember a thing. 

In the end, after a few long months, Shiro is cleared of his charges.

As goes for Zarkon, the information provided by the Blades followed by a thorough nationwide investigation, eventually brings him and his folk to justice, landing them in jail for the remainder of their lives. Galra Tech is sold for a steal. After decades of criminal activity, by the time Shiro and Keith leave for their honeymoon two years later, new cases of blackmail, murder, and various other crimes are still coming to light. It will continue for many years more, and mark a significant chapter in FBI history.

Lotor serves time as well, fifteen years followed by placement under witness protection. If he is ever spotted again, no photos ever make it to the papers.

With their new records and the weight of their actions, neither Keith or Shiro ever go back to the bureau. But they make due, Keith joining his mother in starting a small personal security business, and Shiro taking a stab at going back to school for a few years.

Once the dust has settled with jobs and housing and all the other things they never thought they’d have, little moments spent with Lance, Allura and their children start lingering too long to ignore. Babysitting becomes a frequent thing, and at the end of the day, the parents practically have to fight them in order to get their kids back. 

They know it’d be difficult, becoming parents with their history. But, signing up as foster parents is the best thing they’ll ever do. When three siblings who have lost their parents cross their threshold, they never have to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit i can't believe it's done.
> 
> this fic has been a wild ride, i never thought i’d actually write this au! it’s been sitting in my docs as a vague idea for two years and then suddenly; here we are.  
> the few of you who’ve followed and commented throughout have given me so much life, thank you!!! you’re the best ;~;


End file.
